Night of the Awalim
by Slut Queen Virgin King
Summary: Hermione takes up a new hobby, post-Hogwarts, and then has to demonstrate it. Snape is surprised, as are all witnesses. Please r&r.
1. Default Chapter

**__**

NIGHT OF THE AWALIM

Hermione put her head under the pillow, but it didn't help. She could still hear the wail of Arabic music coming from the small living room. It was past eleven at night. Did her room-mate know no bounds of decency at all? Hermione knew the answer. No, of course not. Carmel Chong, ex-student of Hogwarts of the same vintage as Hermione, but a Ravenclaw. Carmel Chong majoring in Experimental Magic at Elvenbows, same as Hermione. Carmel Chong, who saw graduation from Hogwarts as her initiation into the rest of life. Wine, song, wrong men, dancing…..

It was the dancing Hermione objected to. Elvenbows was a lot closer to London than Hogwarts, which allowed students to regularly Apparate between the wizarding and Muggle worlds. Carmel nightclubbed, and one night a week, took a dance class.

It was Thursday night. Carmel had been at her dance group, come home, and decided another hour's practice was in order.

Hermione stuffed her fingers in her ears, but the music changed to a drum solo. She could feel the beat in her body. Dum-dum-tek-a-tek-dum-tek-a-tek-tekka…. Finally, there was a burst of crazed music and Hermione knew Carmel would be wiggling all over the flat.

Carmel seemed like such a normal girl when they'd first agreed to move in together. Six months later, Hermione knew she was trapped in hell with Party Girl. Still, Carmel was in remarkable shape, as witnessed by her concurrently dating Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Paul McDowall. They all knew about the arrangement, but all were kept happy by Carmel and her very fit charms. Hermione wondered how she did it. She herself had managed three sad dates with Ron before they'd called it quits, an unsuccessful grope with Harry back in fifth year, a quick and unpleasant deflowering by Viktor Krum, and an experimental, unfulfilling pash with Parvati Patil.

Carmel had three blokes, and she had none. By now, everyone assumed she was dedicating her life to study, and left match-making alone.

Carmel's music ran itself down, and just as Hermione heard the cd player turned off, there was a knock at the door. Carmel answered it.

"Harry! Hi! Come in."

Hermione stuffed the pillow over her ears more tightly. Now she would have to block out the thumps and moans from the next room. Wonderful. Arabic music, followed by sex noises, followed by a horribly cheerful Harry in the morning, and a cat-who-swallowed-the-canary Carmel. Double wonderful.

Hermione gave up trying to sleep, and sat up in bed. 

"Lumio," she muttered, and read in bed._ Arcane Arcania Vol II._ She flipped to the end of the book. Just as she thought. The index dunnit. She scowled at her own joke. There was no one in the room to laugh.

The sex noises started next door.

*****

Harry looked happy, relaxed. Carmel was cooking both of them toast and performing some sort of complicated writhing motion when Hermione made her appearance, smartly dressed and buttoned right up, ready for a day's lectures. Harry took his eyes off Carmel's behind long enough to nod at Hermione. She rolled her eyes.

"Don't let me interrupt," she said, snatching an apple from the fruit bowl.

Harry aimed a good-natured poke at her waist. "You should take it up, 'Mione."

Did he need his head read? He saw her look.

"The dancing. I meant the dancing. It keeps Carmel fit. Not that you're not fit…. Well, you're a bit squishy round the middle, but-"

Hermione slammed the front door behind her. Squishy! Who was he calling squishy? She poked herself. There were muscles in there. It was these English winters. Everyone put on a bit of weight in the winter.

She had been intending to take up some sort of sport. Once she got settled into her studies. And got a handle on her life. She poked herself again, and resolved to follow Carmel's lead. But only as far as the dance classes went. She certainly didn't need boyfriends. Or even a boyfriend. There was no time for that sort of thing.

Her desires were well under control. Locked away. In a box. In a foreign country, on top of a mountain. With a sign on the door saying 'Beware of the jaguar'. Eminently sensible. That's why she'd been Head Girl. That's why she was going to graduate with High Honours. And that's why she'd be paid the big money.

Pity she couldn't have some of that money now. Her parents couldn't spare any more to put her through university. Which was why she was sharing with Carmel in the first place. Tutoring other students didn't bring nearly enough to fund her love of books, and passion for signing up for correspondence courses. On top of her regular course load, she was studying 'Practical Potions for the Professional', and 'Spoken and Written Faerie'.

Hermione sighed, and headed for her first class, crunching on her apple.

*****

The dance teacher was a Muggle. A short blonde woman clad in a leotard, and an extravagently jewelled and beaded scarf tied around her hips. Carmel wore tight leggings and a cropped tshirt. Hermione was clad in old sweat pants and a singlet top. Around the room were other women of various ages, most wearing long skirts and hip scarves.

The teacher started them off with a stretch and warm up, then said: "Let's get our shimmies out of the way." She nodded to Hermione. "Shimmies are one of the most basic moves in belly dancing."

Hermione glared at Carmel.

"You said this was Middle Eastern folk dancing," she hissed.

The teacher caught her whisper. "It is folk dancing, in a way. Long before Hollywood got its claws into belly dance, it was performed in the tribes."

She showed Hermione how to bend her knees, and wobble them back and forth in a quick manner. Hermione could feel fat on the backs of her legs flap about. The teacher assured her: "If all your cellulite doesn't wobble, you're not doing it right."

Hermione looked at Carmel. Nothing appeared to shimmy on the tall girl. Why? Why? The teacher must have caught her envious look. She smiled encouragement at Hermione.

"This is probably the only form of dance where it's good to have curves," she said.

Hermione felt minutely better about her daily intake of chocolate. She wasn't fat, but she wasn't a waif either. Ron, in an odd moment of poetica, called her 'lush'. He'd certainly liked her C-cup breasts and often spoke to them instead of her face.

Hermione brought her attention back to class, where the teacher had moved on from shimmies and was explaining something called the pivot hip-lift. It sounded technical. Difficult. Hermione brought all her concentration powers to bear. It didn't help. Even the most recalcitrant research topic submitted to Hermione's intellect, but her body was a different matter. Her hip did not want to lift, not without her shoulders becoming involved in a disturbing "Igor" kind of lurch and limp. All thoughts of 'lush' fled as sweat trickled down her spine. She felt only slightly better to see many of the women, except for goddess Carmel, having similar problems.

*****

It was the end of the year before Harry had cause to give Hermione another friendly shove, subjecting her to some teasing. He then wrapped one arm around her and squeezed.

"'Mione!" he said, some admiration in his voice. "You feel fantastic!"

She blushed as she pushed him away. He followed and hugged her. Carmel cleared her throat.

"Do you mind?" she asked, a grin on her face. She was safe in the knowledge that Harry was hers, as was Ron, Paul, and now Steven Green as well. "May I remind you, Mr Potter, that I was the one who introduced Hermione to belly dance?"

Harry gave Hermione a last squeeze and let her go. "Ahh, but she's the one who's taken three classes a week." He ruffled his friend's wild hair. "Typical Hermione. Do something and do it to extremes."

Carmel snorted. "If only I'd had the brains to do that. I could be earning money at it as well."

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

Hermione motioned for Carmel to shut-up-right-now, but the Anglo-Asian girl continued. "Hermione has her first job as a dancer. Isn't it great? Who would have thought?"  
"Where?" Harry demanded, but Hermione wouldn't say. That was all she needed. The whole Potter and Weasley crowd showing up to see her debut. In a borrowed costume. In a Muggle restaurant where it was rumoured she'd have to dress in the pantry. The locale of the place was Hermione's best kept secret. Not even Carmel knew.

Hermione wasn't sure she shouldn't be declared insane. But it was cash in hand, and she had her fees for next year to pay yet. Her teacher said she was ready. Carmel was in awe of Hermione's natural flare for the dance. Harry had just admired Hermione's muscles. Surely all that counted for something.

Hermione buried herself in study all day and tried not to think of the evening.

*****

There was a large calender pinned to the fridge in the kitchen. On it were texta'd Carmel's classes(blue), Carmel's dates(red, pink, orange, purple, mauve), Hermione's classes(green), dance lessons(brown), and Hermione's belly dance bookings(aqua). The calender looked like a rainbow.

Hermione's wardrobe had bi-polar disorder. Staid clothes for university on one side: jeans, tshirts, pleated skirts, blouses. Nice normal Muggle clothes. In the centre hung her witchly dress robes, for formal occasions. On the other side were her costumes. Another rainbow of glitz, beads, sequins, and chiffon. She thought it ironic that these were her work clothes. She now had regular bookings to perform at two Muggle restaurants, and had just received her first wizarding booking. Hogsmeade. The thought of going back there, possibly seeing people she knew made her stomach flip over, and she wasn't even doing it on purpose.

She was now in her third year of studies. No reason to think she would know anyone at Hogsmeade. No reason at all. Still, she would take her sexiest costume. Show anyone who cared to see that she was no longer the flabby Head Girl who couldn't get her nose out of a book. She was young, gorgeous, a fabulous belly dancer if she did say so herself, and could do a killer Egyptian walk if called upon to do so.

There were still sex noises from Carmel's room, and none from Hermione's. Why? Why?

*****

From outside, the Three Broomsticks glowed. Lantern light, and Lumio spells lit every corner. Hermione slipped in the front door and made her way straight to the bar, avoiding the crowd inside. She wore a cloak that covered her face.

"Sorry dear," said Rosmerta, pulling a pint of beer. "Private function tonight. I can serve you in one of the back rooms if you like."

"No, no, that's fine." Hermione lowered her voice. "I'm the dancer." She lifted her face.

Rosmerta frowned, then smiled with recognition. "I know you! Miss Granger, isn't it? I haven't seen you since that awful business with You-Know-Who back in…oh, when was it, now?"

"Nearly four years," Hermione said, sighing. She had a new life now. She didn't like to think about those desperate times, when she and Ron had searched for Harry, found him in Voldemort's dungeons, and they had all freed so many wizards and witches from his thrall. She remembered Sirius Black covered in blood, dear little Professor Flitwick exhausted from Crucio curses, Snape near death, his body a mess of slashes.

Rosmerta saw Hermione's look. "Thank the gods that's all over. Now, do you need somewhere to change, dear?" Rosmerta always was a shrewd judge of person and mood. Years of serving butterbeer and gillywater to students incoherent before exams, teachers morose from correcting papers, and the occasional randy travelling broom salesman left her able to read faces. That, and a correspondence course in Visual Phrenology.

"Yes, please." Hermione handed a crystal over to the waitress. "This has my music on it. I'll give you a nod when I want you to play it."

The crystal would be placed in a small resonating chamber located behind the bar. Music would issue forth. The perfect, organic solution to boom boxes.

Hermione changed in a back parlour, transforming herself from nearly graduated Associate Professor of Experimental Charms into Mione, belly dancer extraordinaire.

She was a vision in black and gold. Her hair hung down to her waist, the frizzy waves finally suiting her and giving her a wild air. Her skirt was black chiffon and had a split up one leg. Gold sequins formed pentacles around the hem. The jewelled bra and belt were tight, giving her an attractive spill of flesh over the sides. She tucked a veil around her to form a loose wrap, and slid jangling bracelets onto each wrist. A spritz of perfume, a dusting of body glitter, slash of lipstick, and she was ready to earn the money for her graduation gown.

She peeked around the corner at Rosmerta.

"It's a birthday, right?" she asked.

Rosmerta nodded. "And an end-of-year thing. They decided to combine the two."

End of year? Oh, please gods, not students. Terrible audience, always half-pissed. Terrible tippers as well. Oh, crap. She should have asked about her audience by return owl. All she knew was that she'd been booked through The Three Broomsticks. Too late to back out now.

Her music started, a boppy bit of Arabic pop, and she did her best cat-walk to the centre of the room, head high, hair flowing, smile in place.

The room had been Transfigured to contain one large round table. It sat every teacher from Hogwarts. Why? Why?

Dumbledore smiled at her and beckoned her over. She hip lifted in his direction and stood beside him.

"Hello, my dear," he said. "I'm glad you could come." He turned his voice into a whisper. "I thought you could do with the extra money. I've heard good things about you from Elvenbows. It would be a shame if you couldn't go on to post-graduate studies." He clapped in time to the music.

Hermione smiled and did her best figure eight for him.

Macgonagall looked over her spectacles. "Hermione, is that you?"

Hermione switched to hip circles and nodded. Macgonagall shook her head.

"I've seen students of mine go on to all sorts of careers, but-"

"It's a living, Minerva," came Snape's voice from across the table. "Same as teaching." He paused. "And you have to admit, she is good at it."

Hermione forced herself not to blush as she met his gaze. She needn't have worried. His eyes were not on her face.

"Ahh, our birthday boy," said Dumbledore. "Do go make a fuss of him, Hermione."

Snape tried to look away, but Hermione put on her best power-babe goddess persona and worked her way around the table towards him, pausing only for some hip drops for Madam Hooch, who was drunk enough to stand up and try to imitate her. Hermione eased back into some simple moves that Hooch could follow. No use humiliating the audience without reason.

Finally, she reached Snape. She knew well enough what to do with birthday boys. She twined her wrists either side of his head, bringing her arms forward and forward until she was nearly touching the back of his head with her breasts. Almost, but not quite. 

This was her Potions Professor, she told herself. He'd put them all through untold hours of torture. Time for pay back.

She let her breasts just brush his hair, and then pulled back, trailing one arm within an inch of his face. She stepped back and motioned for Snape to stand. He mutely shook his head. She appealed to the rest of the table, who started shouting for Snape to get up. Snape shot them all filthy looks, but finally rose from his seat. He was about to fold his arms when she took his hands in hers, and opened both of their arms out.

Hermione started with a slow three-quarter shimmy. Snape stood still, merely watching her. Pivot hip lifts? Still as a statue. Pelvic drops? Nope. Figure eights? Nothing. The music changed to a sensual piece called 'Serpentina'. She did a slow, big hip circle. Finally, Snape moved, tried to copy her. She'd forgotten that the male pelvis was naturally tilted forward. Any movement had a forward thrust to it. She got an outline of Snape's nether regions through his trousers. Ooooo-kay, there was something she'd never expected to see.

She twirled herself under one of Snape's arms and began a series of sensual rib cage circles. Snape didn't even try to copy, merely followed her. She used her veil to ensnare him, make him follow her like a puppy on a leash.

The music changed again to a fast drum solo by Hossam Ramzy, and Hermione went into her shimmy routine, with plenty of quick hip drops and undulations.

"Do that, Severus!" called Hooch, as Hermione did a body roll.

The potions master stayed patiently within Hermione's veil until the end of the performance. If he felt uncomfortable, he didn't show it. Hermione usually finished with a quick bit of veil work before floating back stage, but decided untangling Snape from the three metres of chiffon was too complicated. If she were playing the seductress, she might as well go for broke.

As her music finished, she pulled on the veil, motioning Snape to follow her. As she skipped from the room to applause and whistles, Snape trudged after her, his neck encased in black veil. She led him back to the back parlour, and turned to give him a tentative smile.

"Excuse me, Professor," she said, and reached up to take back her veil.

He helped her slide it from around his neck, surprisingly co-operative.

She felt suddenly shy around him, aware that she was half-naked, covered in sweat. She blushed. He lifted his gaze, spoke to a point just above her head.

"An excellent performance, Miss Granger. Full marks to Gryffindor." His tone was dry.

"Thankyou. I'm surprised you let me…" She gestured to the front room.

"It seemed easier to comply than not. Besides, you are a welcome relief after last year."

"Oh?"

"Stripper. Old stripper. Dumbledore has some idiotic ideas sometimes."

"Belly dancers are not strippers." Hermione was about to recite the noble history of the awalim, the high class women who danced beledi.

Snape dropped his eyes to Hermione's body, then lifted his gaze to hers. "Pity. Clearly, costumes aren't everything."

Hermione blushed again, and idly wondered how often one could do that without having some sort of aneurism. 

Snape lifted one thin, pale hand and traced the shoulder strap of Hermione's costume. "They expect me to leave with you, you know." He said. "They do it every year. Poor old Snape who deserves one good night out a year. As if I can't arrange my own affairs." He stopped short on the last word.

Another blush. Dammit. She was going to have skin trauma soon.

Harry, Ron and half the male wizard population were under the control of Carmel Chong. The rest were either married, gay, or doing studies at Wilkes, the Antarctic wizarding university. Just how much magic could be produced by ice anyway?

This wasn't the first time a birthday boy had wanted to come home with her. But this was the first time she'd considered the possibility. At this time of night, Carmel would be in bed with Harry, or Ron, or both. They'd be making sex noises, probably in time with a drum solo from the cd player.

_Arcane Arcania Vol VII _was awaiting her.

She was tired of brotherly hugs from Harry.

She slid her hand up Snape's chest. "I have one question for you."

He sighed. "You know very well that I owe no allegiance to the Death Eaters any more."

"It's not that." She thought of the thin wall separating her room from Carmel's. She moved in close to Snape. "Are you noisy in bed?"

One black eyebrow rose. "I can be."

"Good."

*****


	2. Revenge

**__**

NIGHT OF THE AWALIM

CHAPTER 2: REVENGE

Hermione felt suddenly shy. It was all very well to be a beledi goddess on the performance floor, strut around a restaurant confident, sexy and gorgeous, but afterwards she was still herself. And her brash manner hid a deep doubt that she really knew enough. There was always another book to read, another course to do. She was a caberet belly dancer, charming and conquering audiences everywhere, but she knew her zill work was sloppy, and that she couldn't balance a sword on her head yet while doing a series of pelvic drops.

It was all very well, for the first time ever, to tempt someone back to her bedroom, but when they got there, it was still only her in a costume, with books strewn on the floor, g-strings and knickers hanging out of her laundry hamper, and body glitter spilled across her dresser.

She and Severus Snape faced each other. They had Apparated straight from her performance at Hogsmeade. Her banter made her blush now. What the hell did she think she was doing, bringing home her old Potions Master? She wondered what her flat mate, Carmel, would say?

__

"Lugh on a crutch, Hermione, what were you thinking?"

"He looked lost, Carmel. He followed me home? Can I keep him?"

And while she was sure Snape was house trained, she wasn't as positive about flea control and rabies.

"If you have changed your mind, Miss Granger, I can go," Snape said quietly.

The silence was drawn out between them. The flat itself seemed oddly still. Then suddenly a drum piece from the Camelspotting cd blared out from the next room.

"My flat mate," Hermione said. "She plays Arabic music when she…er…"

There was a solid thunk as Carmel apparently jumped back into her bed and the bedhead hit the wall.

"Ooww, Carmel, mind your knee!" said a male voice.

"Ron, get your elbow out of my face!"

"Move over yourself, sunshine."

Snape's left eyebrow rose. "Ronald Weasley?" he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Judging from the voices, I would say Carmel Chong is going for some sort of record." She leaned over her bed and hammered on the wall. "Shut up!"

Silence. Then a door opening. Snape wisely disappeared into the shadows of Hermione's room. Hermione opened her bedroom door. Carmel stood there. She was sporting a very new and very tiny negligee.

"Sorry. We're just having some fun, that's all."

"I know." Hermione's voice was very tired.

"If you'd like to come in-"

"No thanks."

"Ron and Harry say hi."

"That's nice."

"Seamus wants to know if you'll perform at his birthday party."

"I'll think about it."

"Professor LaGrange says you forgot to pick up your extra reading list."

"Gods, Carmel, he's not in there, is he?"

"No, I saw him yesterday in class. But it's not a bad thought. He's very nice."

"He's half-giant!"

"I'm not rascist. Well, I think I'll get back to it. We'll try to keep the noise down."

"Uh huh."

"But you're only young once."

"I know."

Carmel gave her a full-wattage winning smile and skipped back to her room. Hermione shut her door and then heard Carmel slam hers, and another bounce on the bed, to accompaniment of complaints, laughs, and an offer to get out the jar of honey now.

Snape slid out of his lurking spot. "I can see why you wanted me to make noise. Revenge is always a good motive," he said. "Is that really Potter and Weasley in there?"

"And Seamus Finnigan too, if I know my voices."

Snape grinned. "You have my every sympathy, Miss Granger. I boarded in London during my university days. Professor Sinistra roomed in the flat above. My board agreement said hot and cold running water, three meals a day. I can only assume hers said hot and cold running men, three sexual encounters a day."

"What did you do about it?" Maybe he had a couple of good tips.

"Became one of them. If you can't beat them, join them."

"You and Professor Sinistra?"

Snape did a passable imitation of her tone. "You and Viktor Krum?"

Hermione blushed. "How do you know about that?"

"Your essay in fifth year: _What I Did For My Holidays: An educational trip to Eastern Europe_. The staff spent considerable time reading between the lines. You were the subject of discussion for at least a month."

Hermione fiddled with the long beading on her costume bra. Snape cleared his throat.

"So…..would you like to sit down?" Hermione said.

"Where?" Snape gestured to the room. There was not a clear surface anywhere. "Besides, I do not think we came here to sit." He eyed the bed. "I believe you wanted me to make noise?"

"I…er…well, that is….I mean…." She had asked him here on that premise.

And she did still want revenge for all of Carmel's diurnal activities that kept her awake or distracted from study. She took a deep breath.

"Yes. Noise. Lots of it. All night." There, she'd said it. Now she would either die of embarrassment or with a big smile on her face.

Snape fished into his pants. Hermione blanched when he pulled out his wand. The wooden one that did spells. Not the flesh one that presumably, and hopefully, made magic.

"Stand back, Miss Granger. I may not wave this foolishly, but I wouldn't want you in the way." Hermione backed up onto her bed and watched Snape swish and flick a number of times, muttering incantations too quickly for her to catch. Wooden planks, a saw, hammer, nails, and various other tools appeared. The tools set to work building a set of shelves for Hermione's wall. All the books slapped themselves together to be rid of dust and assembled in alphabetical piles ready for storage. The window opened and a Dust-Buster plant Apparated in from the Sudan. It began slurping up dust on the carpet and walls. All Hermione's clothes flung themselves out of her wardrobe, flicked themselves out the window, snapping like sheets, and then back in to hang neatly. A swarm of Starch Flies flew in and settled on the clothing, straightening everything without need of an iron. Then they circled the room twice with a loud buzz and left again. Hermione's costumes jangled their way out of the other side of the wardrobe, reorganised themselves and shimmied back in.

"Mary Poppins Snape," Hermione muttered.

"I heard that. Mary Poppins was a past graduate of Hogwarts." Snape folded his arms. "Besides, I knew you'd fuss if I called House Elves." He swished and flicked several more times.

A series of barnyard noises erupted around the room, culminating in a loud series of baa's.

Hermione cocked her head. Snape smiled.

"It's all noise," he said.

Another spell saw Hermione unceremoniously kicked off the bed. She landed with a bump. All her bedclothes flipped out the window, aired, came in, and made themselves into hospital corners. Her pillows fluffed, the door hinges were oiled by a scampering tin of oil, and finally the books jumped, crash, crash, crash, onto the shelves. The bed flipped itself open, invitingly. The Dust-Buster plant settled into a corner, burped, and slept. The tools disappeared in a loud, wet pop.

_Carmel, Harry, Ron and Seamus paused in their shennanigans. The most godsawful racket was coming from Hermione's bedroom. Crashing, thumping, banging, buzzing, slurping, sucky noises. Then mooing, seagulls squawking, and what sounded like a flock of sheep being herded through Hermione's room._

"You've got to hand it to the girl," said Ron. "When she does something, she goes all out."

"I've a new respect for her," said Seamus.

"I'm just sorry we never got together," said Harry.

Carmel poked him with her feather duster. "Anything she can do, I can do better," she said, and turned their attention back to her.

Again Snape and Hermione faced each other, this time across the bed.

"You said you wanted me to make noise," Snape said.

"I didn't think….I mean…. Not in that way."  
He grinned at her again and sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard. He kicked off his shoes and crossed one foot over the other. He tilted his head back to scrutinise her. She was still in costume, so there was a lot of flesh to look at. Whichever god had decided Hermione Granger should become a belly dancer, Snape was thankful to him.

"And exactly what sort of noise should I be making?"

Hermione took a deep breath, which was an impressive sight in that bejewelled bra. "No more sheep, that's for sure. Moaning, I suppose."

Snape moaned, long, loud, following it up with: "Help me! Help me! Stop! No, please, stop!"

_Seamus stopped what he was doing and swallowed a mouthful of honey. "That sounded…odd."_

"It sounded like Professor Snape!" Harry said.

They all looked at each other. "Nah!" they agreed.

Hermione leaned over and smacked Snape lightly on the shoulder. His arm reached up, held her in place. Her cleavage was inches from his face. She tried to breathe normally, pretend this sort of thing happened all the time.

"Not that sort of moaning," she said.

Snape tried "I feel ill" moaning, followed by "I'm very depressed" moaning.

Hermione belted him twice more. "You know what sort of sounds," she accused.

Snape's mouth closed on her skin and he nipped softly at the rise of one breast. She expelled her breath in a sigh, and her knees gave way. She came down with a thump on the bed. Snape's hair caught in the sequins of her bra.

"Ahh, dammit, Miss Granger, stay still, I'm caught," he said in his best, loud "I'm-going-to-kill-you-bloody-Potions-students-if-you-don't-shut-up" voice.

__

"That IS Professor Snape," said Harry.

"Too weird," said Ron. "I always said she was mental."

"Never mind about Hermione!" Carmel said. "I'm here. Pay attention!"

Snape untangled his hair and suggested Hermione remove her costume. More than suggested. For the first time in recorded history he was co-operative, helping her out of it until all she wore was body glitter, a flesh-coloured g-string, and plenty of bangles. Snape took the veil she'd used for her performance that evening, the one she'd ensnared him in, and draped it over her body. It was chiffon, and therefore sheer. Snape sucked her nipples through the material that did nothing to hide her arousal.

Hermione had enough presence of mind to ask for more noise, just before Snape's fingers slid inside her.

"You first," Snape muttered, and scrunched his fingers slightly.

__

Ron sat up. "Do you think Hermione's alright?" he asked, as the cries in the next room died away, to be replaced by a high-pitched groan.

"She's fine," Carmel said forcefully.

"I wish I'd asked her to the Year 7 ball now," Seamus said.

Hermione used her veil to blindfold Snape as she undressed him. 

"Why do you have so many clothes on?" she asked, annoyed because each layer contained many small buttons. "Oh, fuck this!" She reached for her wand. "Accio buttons, Accio clothes!"

All of Snape's buttons flew off and were swallowed one by one by the Dust-Buster plant. Snape's clothes leapt from his body and folded themselves neatly into a pile on the floor.

"May I remove my blindfold now?" Snape asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"No."

"I want to look at you."

"Just a while longer."

Snape made to remove the veil from about his eyes. Hermione slapped at his hands in annoyance. Her voice rose.

"Just keep it on, dammit! Or nothing else happens."

__

"Well, I'm glad she's a safe sex girl," Carmel said.

Snape let Hermione do her will with him for only so long before he sought her with his hands, pulled her up towards him. She removed her veil from his eyes and watched as he feasted on the sight of her above him. He shifted on the bed slightly ,and the headboard banged against the wall.

__

"Damn, that's broken my rhythm," Harry complained.

Carmel reached up and hammered on the wall. "Shut up!" she yelled.

Carmel's shout set Hermione's intent. She poised herself over Snape, legs astride him. Slowly, teasing, she circled her entrance around the tip of his shaft. Wide, lazy circles that made him moan. Yes! The right sort of moaning noises this time!

Centimetre at a time, she lowered herself onto him.

Snape held her hips lightly. "Show me how you dance," he said.

Hermione smiled. 'There's no music," she joked.

Snape had left his wand beside the bed. One quick spell and the sound of the oud filled the air.

"Now show me," he said.

Hermione used every skill she had.

__

Carmel ground her teeth. Ron was snoring, and Harry doing that annoying suck-breath-in-puff-it-out thing. Seamus was silent but his leg was heavy across her body. From the room next door, music of varying sorts had spilled all night. First some passable Arabic music, then some lazy jazz. But it was now five in the morning and the steady bass beat of Creedance Clearwater Revival vibrated. Accompanying that was the rhythmic thud of Hermione's headboard against the wall. Oh sure, it would quieten off for a while, but then it would start up again. At 4am, Carmel was sure she'd heard Hermione's chair splinter.

Carmel watched the clock tick over to 5.30am. There was a knock on her bedroom door. She roughly tossed aside her blanket of blokes and ripped open the door.

"What?"

Hermione stood there, clad in nothing but an oversized man's black shirt. "Do you think Harry will mind if I borrow Hedwig?"

The owl hooted from her perch in the living room.

"You know he doesn't mind. What do you want with her?"

Hermione smiled impishly. "I need to send her to the all-night pharmacy. For condoms." She smiled. "I know I could spell them in, but I thought you'd like to know."

She shut the door in Carmel's face.

Five minutes after Hedwig hooted her return, the thumping began again.

7am and the boys woke up. None of them seemed eager to leave. They lounged around the flat, making it look untidy, eating all the Cornflakes, and stealing glances at Hermione's bedroom door. All Carmel wanted was a quiet Sunday morning to herself, the Daily Prophet Weekend Edition, and maybe some Muggle television.

The boys didn't leave. Ron and Seamus watched the tv, Ron laughing at the soccer. Harry read the paper. Carmel stomped around, wondering what on earth she'd done to deserve this.

All action ceased mid-afternoon, when Hermione emerged from her bedroom. She smiled at the men draped about the flat.

"Afternoon, 'Mione," Ron said, waggling his eyebrows. "Sleep late, did we?"

Snape emerged from Hermione's room, wearing only his trousers. "We didn't sleep at all," he said, and followed his lover to the bathroom. They shut the door and ran water for the bath.

Ron looked at Harry looked at Seamus. They all looked at Carmel. She'd NEVER asked them to have a bath with her.

"Wish I'd asked her to the Year 7 ball," they all said as one.

The sound of splashing filled the flat.

****

**********

Many thanks to Warrego for comments and suggestions. 


	3. Unnatural Practices

**__**

NIGHT OF THE AWALIM

CHAPTER 3: UNNATURAL PRACTICES

They cleared the flat of men by early evening. Carmel shut the door behind Ron Weasley, who was yelling a cheerful goodbye to all concerned. The attractive Brit-asian girl stood with hands on hips and stared at Hermione.

"Holy hell, 'Mione. Professor Snape? Couldn't you find anyone….er…younger? Cleaner? Nicer? Shoot, human would have done."

Hermione finished picking up towels from the bathroom. Her lover had left an hour ago, apparating to Hogsmeade.

"I mean, what were you thinking of? What does he do for you?" Carmel wouldn't leave the subject alone. Possibly she was still in shock. Their unwritten house rule was that Carmel had all the men, while Hermionie got the high marks at university, the belly dance jobs, and didn't have to clean the toilet.

Hermione used her wand to siphon all the water spread across the bathroom floor down the plug hole, then muttered a 'clean and dry' spell on the towels. They writhed themselves clean, smoothed out their wrinkles, and folded neatly into bouncy squares that slotted into the linen cupboard.

"It's not as if Harry or Ron wouldn't be willing to…you know. I don't mind sharing. And I know they don't." Carmel smiled one of her ingenuous smiles, the one that said 'I know I'm way over the limit here, but I'm so lovely and cute that you won't mind'. Hermione had seen it all before, usually when it came to the toilet-cleaning issue.

"But Snape? I can't imagine-"

"That's your problem, Carmel. Lack of imagination. That's why you're failing the creative component of Arithmancy. Let me spell it out for you. It fits." Hermione left the communal area of the flat for the privacy of her own room. It still smelled of sweat, sex, and Snape's cologne. She spelled some of Uncle Mafufo's Drum music to play, and practiced her shimmies. Her hips were so loose the movements came easily.

Carmel shook her head. It wasn't right. It wasn't natural. Young women were supposed to want young men. That was the genetic heritage. Young men with vigourous sperm that would couple with fresh eggs and create the Muggle or wizarding equivalent of supermen. Hermione should be drawn to the likes of Ron, Harry, Seamus, and all the younger men who attended Elvenbows, or worked around London.

Sleeping with an older man was a mind-programming no-no. It was sick. That was it, Carmel decided. Hermione was sick. She didn't understand the error of her ways because she didn't have a big enough gene pool to choose from. Carmel set about giving Hermione some choices. That was what a free, democratic society was about. She polished the magic mirror in her bedroom and set up a three-way chat with a couple of prospects.

Hermione was working on a rolling shoulder shimmy when James Kirkham apparated into her bedroom. She stared over her down shoulder at him in a way that appeared to be flirtatious. She hadn't seen James for some years since the Potions incident in Year 6. She could still hear Snape's roar.

"The Potions laboratory is not a crack house! This institution is not to be used for the brewing of mind-altering substances! Professor Sprout has found what you are growing in the greenhouse. You, Kirkham, will go straight from here to the Headmaster's study. From there,I expect you will be sent home. Get. Out. Of. My. Sight." And he'd dismissed the whole class while he poured Kirkham's concoctions down the drain.

True to his word, James Kirkham had not been seen at Hogwarts again. His friends in Ravenclaw said that he'd been sent to Durmstrang, but no one had really heard from him again.

Until tonight. Trust Carmel to have kept in touch with every dodgy dude from Hogwarts. Possibly Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, Wilkes, Coyotebum, and Uluru as well. As well as the non-dodgy ones. Nothing like Carmel to have as wide a selection as possible.

"Hey, Hermione, how are you?" said James. He looked red around the eyes.

Hermione turned to face him. "James Kirkham?"

He grinned. "You remembered. Listen, I just happened to be in the neighbourhood, and-"

"You apparated into my bedroom."

"Hey, well, you know how it is."

"YOU APPARATED INTO MY BEDROOM!"

"Don't take on so. I was hoping we could have coffee or something."

"Petrificus totalis."

James froze in mid-sleeze and fell to the ground. Hermione kicked him into a corner, none to gently. His nose looked decidedly drippy. She turned away, and was confronted with Neville Longbottom. Neville had filled out over the years, becoming a tall, broad-shouldered man who bore the same bumbling air as Ron's father. Neville shot James a nervous glance.

"Hermione, hi, how are you?" He held up both hands to ward off her wand. "I was looking through my yearbook the other day and got to thinking about you." Neville licked his lips. "We used to have some fun times together, right? Huh? And I got to thinking about you, and….. well, I was thining about you, and-"

"Petrificus totalis."

Neville managed to get out "Oh no, not again!" before he stiffened and crashed to the ground.

"Now, 'Mione, don't get all shitty," said an overly-familiar voice. Ron Weasley stood there, a little worse for wear after the previous evening's strenuous activities. 

"Petrificus totalis." 

Ron joined his ex-classmates on the floor. They were an untidy mix of red hair, brown hair, black hair, various assortments of casual clothing, and a strong clash of aftershaves. Hermione turned her back on them, just in time to feel the air tingle. Another Apparition coming through. She raised her wand.

Snape appeared and stared at the pile of men on Hermione's floor. He lifted his gaze, just as his lover waved her wand. Now she had four men on her floor. Oops. She performed a quick 'awaken' spell on Snape. The man picked himself carefully off Ron, and stood. He cleared his throat.

"I was going to ask if I'd left my wallet here," he said. "But I can see you're in a bad mood." His gaze flicked over the other men. "Do I dare ask?"

"They were bothering me."

"Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you," Snape said drily. He dusted himself off and spotted his wallet under Hermione's bed. He pocketed it. "Thankyou for a most interesting demonstration of your temper, Miss Granger," he said evenly. "Now if you'll excuse me…"

"Oh, sit down," she said, cross. "They just appeared out of nowhere, right in my bedroom. I had every right."

"No doubt."

The tension between them stretched out. Difficult enough to make small talk after a full night of wild sexual antics, but when etiquette has been thrown out the window by some careless spell-casting….. Hermione was glad she hadn't been tempted to turn them all into penguins.

Snape broke the silence. "It is becoming a habit to tidy your room for you," he said.

Some not so foolish wand waving and the use of the "Originia" spell sent Ron, James and Neville back from whence they came. Snape reseated himself on the bed.

"Thankyou," Hermione said. 'I would have thought of that in a moment."

"It was no trouble."

Silence again. What to say?

"Well, I was just doing some practice. It's the last chance I'll have this weekend," Hermione said. "I've a heavy study schedule next week."

"When didn't you have a heavy schedule," Snape remarked. He looked at her leggings and crop top. "May I observe you as you practice?" he asked.

Hermione felt nervous. She either practiced alone or in a class full of women. Her teacher had always told her not to dance for a man alone, because of the heavy sexual connotations. As if belly dance didn't have enough of them to begin with. Two hundred years of modern belly dance, and people still thought they were prostitutes.

But Snape was her lover. She presumed. Nothing had been said about a repeat performance, but he hadn't crawled out of her bedroom saying "Bloody hell, never again" either. It was very early in their relationship. Either it was a good time to be setting firm boundaries and rules that could never, ever be broken, or it was a time to refuse him nothing. She wasn't sure which. There had been no books in the Hogwarts or Elvenbows libraries on this subject. And 'Wizards Are From Wands, Witches Are From Cauldrons' did nothing to enlighten her when she read it. Was she now supposed to insist that Snape go into his dungeon for some 'space'? Or do what 'Why Do I Think I'm Nothing Without A Wand?' recommended and involve herself with meaningful activities? And exactly what did 'Witches Who Love Wizards Who Hate Pumpkin Juice' have to do with the issue at all? She just _had_ to stop reading those self-help books. Maybe there was a book on how to do that.

"You can watch, on the basis that you join in," she said. Where the hell had that come from?

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You want me to belly dance?" he said.

She shrugged.

"I doubt I have the right equipment."

"Just do your best."

She pulled him to his feet, grateful now for the extra floor space a clean room and a ground empty of men afforded(and how many times in one life could a woman use that sentence?). Snape managed some stretches. She knew he was supple, kept in shape, he confessed the previous night, by a regime of yoga, and acrobatic broom flying. He managed the back and forth wobble of the knees to produce a shimmy. But somehow it looked wrong on him. He didn't shimmy the way she did.

"What about some hip circles?" she asked, and taught him to imagine sliding his pelvis around the inside of a cylinder.

The male pelvis is already naturally tilted forward. So any further forward motion accentuates the tilt and therefore exposes the outline of the genitalia more fully. Hermione was copping an eyeful.

"Maybe some…er.." Body undulations would make it worse. He didn't seem to have the same side-to-side hip slide she did. Did men have steel bars running down their sides, or what? Hip drops and lifts would be out of the question, never mind a camel walk. Don't even think about a elegant fluidity of serpent arms or candle arms. Hermione grabbed her wand and conjured an Arabic drum. "What about you play the darabouka, and I dance?" she said.

Snape settled back on her bed, and experimentally tapped out a rhythm. It was closer to Chopsticks than Shiftatelli but it would do. Hermione got to work practicing her Egyptian walk.

Carmel stared at her mirror. She'd just received images from Ron, Neville and James. All were nursing various bruises and headaches. So Hermione didn't like men her own age. There still had to be more savoury options than Snape. Carmel shuddered at the thought of Snape naked. She had never,ever fantasised about that at Hogwarts. Well, there was that one time, but that had more to do with dipping the nasty sod in boiling oil than anything else.

Carmel would solve this sad misdirection of Hermione's sexual interest. She would! Even if Hermione did like older men(and there was something so WRONG about that), there were better men around than Snape.

The arabic drum lay abandoned on the bed. Hermione had managed a back bend, supported by Snape's arm. Her voice was muffled.

"Now if you'll just help me upright," she said.

Snape grinned. "No, I think I like the view from here." He bent forward and touched his lips to Hermione's taut belly. It shivered under his touch, and she pulled herself up.

"Practice," she said indistinctly, as Snape's mouth made its way up her body to her mouth.

"I am," he said.

The air tingled around them.

"Severus, I was beginning to wonder when you didn't show up for dinner," said a very familiar voice. Professor Dumbledore smiled at both of them. "Miss Granger. I can't say how much we all enjoyed your performance last night. Miss Chong said you were in dire need of my assistance. She wouldn't say exactly what, so I came at once." He peered at them closely. "I'm not at all sure I can help with any…er…personal problems you may be having."

Snape brought Hermione abruptly to her feet. "Albus, there is no problem." He glanced in the direction of Carmel's bedroom. "Not one that can't be fixed soon enough."

Hermione didn't bother to answer Dumbledore. "If you'll excuse me, please." She shot out of the bedroom.

Both men could hear her pounding on Carmel's locked door. "Open up, or I swear to all gods that turning your tampons into frogs will be the least of it." They heard a door open, shut, and much female screaming begin.

The two men made small talk for a few minutes. Snape had not had the pleasure of being caught like this in many years, no matter what situation Dumbledore dreamed up for him. Dumbledore was no perve to interfere in another man's sex life. Finally, the elder wizard rocked on his heels.

"Well, if there's nothing further I can do, I think I'll be going. I must say, Severus, you might think of spelling in some privacy screens. The walls here are dreadfully thin."

They could both hear Carmel at full tilt. "It's sick, Hermione, and you know it. There are plenty of guys out there, Muggle and wizard. Why him? I can't understand it. I thought the belly dancing would loosen you up-"

"I'm plenty loose, thankyou!"

Snape looked ready to say something. Dumbledore possibly didn't want to know.

"She's not really," Snape burst out.

Change that to definitely didn't want to know. This was as bad as Hermione's seventh year, when Harry Potter had broken up with Ginny Weasley. The girl had set her wand to glo-painting the outer walls of Hogwarts with the phrase: "Harry Potter is the worst lay in the whole of Hogwarts - ever". Her punishment had been to personally insert the word 'not'.

Dumbledore wasn't a man to apparate without saying goodbye, but this situation was beyond all reason. He spelled himself away with relief, trying very hard not to hear Snape saying, absently: "She's not loose at all".

Snape sat on Hermione's bed and listened to Carmel mention every one of his more unpleasant characteristics, loudly. Several times. Most went very well with his name. Slimy. Sneaky. Suckback. Snakelike. Sink of corruption(he liked that one).

"Sexy," Hermione countered. Snape raised an eyebrow. That was something he never expected. "I think he's sexy."

"But-"

"I LIKE HIM!"

Slamming of door. He thought he heard Hermione taking several deep breaths outside her door. She opened it.

"Hello," she said, all trace of anger gone. If only she'd had that much control at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy would not have suffered all those sudden attacks of shrinking anatomical parts, and Hermione would not have spent so many hours in detention. "Where were we?"

"Hermione, if my presence is going to cause you problems-"

"It's Carmel. She can't accept that I…" She swallowed.

"Like me? The walls are rather thin."

"All right then, I like you. She can't imagine why. She thinks I need a partner my own age."

"And do you?" Snape was testing the waters. Was he to be her partner? Nothing had been said.

Their eyes locked.

"I think I already have a partner," she said, her voice small.

Snape reached out, took her hand. "In that case, I think I have a solution for Miss Chong. It's not exactly ethical."

"I like it already."

"It's an invasion of privacy."

"Even better."

"But she will see what you see in me, gods only know what it is."

"If it shuts her up, I'm all for it."

"Are you sure you shouldn't have been Sorted into Slytherin?"

She grinned at him. "What are you going to do?"

He pulled her to him and slid his hands over her hips. "First I'm going to hold you like this. And then I'm going to do this." He moved one hand over her belly and between her legs. She pressed into him. "Then this." He pushed upwards, feeling her heat in his palm. She wound her hands into his hair. He murmured against her. "And when we've finished, I'll take care of Carmel."

Hermione succumbed to his roaming hands and mouth, all the while hoping Snape's solution wasn't to give Carmel a taste of what she herself was getting. Being an only child, she didn't like to share.

Carmel woke from her sleep, late as usual. It had been at least two in the morning before the sex noises next door had shut up. Couldn't they figure honest people were trying to sleep? How inconsiderate. They seemed to take it in turns. First Hermione would be bossy, telling him to do this, do that, put that there. Then a while later Snape's authoritarian teacher's voice would be ordering Hermione to lie down, stand up, and gods knew what else. Carmel found, after Snape's last order to turn over, that putting her pillow over her head blocked his voice out. If she'd used her under-utilised text books, she would have found the spell for sonic screens.

She shook herself and swallowed. Her mouth was dry. What a dream! When she'd finally slept, it had all been about Snape. Snape and her in the old Potions dungeon. Snape and her on the breakfast table in the Great Hall. Snape on her, she on him.

Carmel moved her hands from the tingling between her legs to the throb of lips well kissed. Snape was like 'that'? Really? Honest to gods? She'd been top of her year in Dream Divination at Hogwarts.

"It was a dream," she told herself. "A dream."

She rose for breakfast, and hoped the two root-rats next door hadn't used all the Corn Flakes as sex aids. No Corn Flakes to be found. She settled for Weetbix, and then went back to bed. With any luck, she'd have another dream. And Hermione said she had no imagination. Ha! 

***** *****


	4. Hermione Does Hogwarts

**__**

NIGHT OF THE AWALIM

Chapter 4: Hermione Does Hogwarts

The flat was abnormally quiet. Hermione frowned. Crookshanks was asleep. No biggie there. He was always asleep, except when he was eating, enjoying his evening happy hour of chasing non-existent moths, or sitting on someone's bed, watching them have sex. No one minded, except when he started to nod his head in time to the rhythm, like watching a bouncing ball. Disturbing, and guaranteed to put anyone off their stroke. As if Crookshanks didn't know that.

There was no ebullient flat mate called Carmel Chong moaning over her studies, moaning over the lack of Corn Flakes, or moaning over the body of one of her many boyfriends. No music pounded out of her room. No smell of ylang-ylang or rose essential oils. No untidy mess of boys lounging around the flat in an unnecesarily relaxed manner.

It was too quiet. Hermione loved it. A whole evening to study. She could write her essay on 'Einstein: Arithmatician or Fictionalist'. She could practice to her latest belly dance cd: 'Ab Remir Remix'. She could run around the flat naked if she wished. There was no one to see her. She did all three. First the essay. It didn't take long, since she was working from a Reconstructionalist perspective of the magic of the Unified Field Theory.

It took her some time to work the study kinks out of her back, and find a dance rhythm to suit the rapid drum beat of the cd, but finally she settled into a shimmy routine. Circle, 8, hip drops, shimmy, rib cage circle, shoulder shimmy, start again. All combined with arm movements, and the big smile the customers expected.

She shed her clothes. She knew that ghawazee dancers of the Middle East used to dance topless several centuries ago. She knew she had nothing to be ashamed of. Still, at least her bra kept everything in place. Naked, not everything stopped when the music did. But her nudity proved, at least to herself, that she was wild, free, and completely alone in the flat.

She was doing some foot placement work when she heard the tap on the window pane. A small owl was hovering there, pecking at the glass with its beak. Hermione opened the window and it flew in. There was a note strapped to its leg. It hopped onto the back of the couch and stuck its leg out.

Hermione opened the note. It was written on Hogwarts stationary. Her stomach did a quick flip-flop. A letter from Snape? That would be nice. And a sign that things were progressing well between them. Was a week progress? She hadn't seen him since Monday morning, and here it was, Friday night.

Her face fell when she saw Dumbledore's signature.

_"My dear Miss Granger: It was a delight to have you perform at our end of term celebration, and Severus' birthday party. Perhaps you could grace us with your presence this evening? I have a proposition to put to you regarding some part-time work here at Hogwarts. I know that you will be doing your job placements this year, and I thought I would take the opportunity to offer you Hogwarts. Please owl me. I will be in my office until midnight if this evening is suitable for your visit. Yours in magic, Albus Dumbledore."_

The owl was looking Hermione up and down. Bloody bird, hadn't it ever seen anyone naked before? Hermione checked her thoughts. Not unless the owl was in the habit of delivering post to people in the bath. She checked the time. It was still only mid-evening. Plenty of time to Apparate to Hogsmeade, then fly to Hogwarts. And maybe after her meeting with Dumbledore, she could surprise Snape in his dungeon. She wanted to know what his bedroom was like. Was it decked out in black? Did he have purple satin sheets (oh, please, no)? Were there silver handcuffs permanently attached to the bedhead? So many questions, so few answers. If only there was a Standard Book of Wizards. She could look 'Snape, Severus' and read all about him. Then again, she suspected if ever such a book was written, Carmel was doing to groundwork research, at least with the younger generation of wizards. In the past week, she had added Blaise Zabini to her entourage.

Hermione scribbled a quick response to the letter and sent the owl off with two Owl Nibblies and a speck of chocolate biscuit. Exactly how the owl would beat her back to Hogwarts remained a mystery. Hermione resolved to write her next essay on the Apparating abilities of owls.

Now to the consideration of clothes. A: She'd better wear some. B: They should be demure enough to have tea with Dumbledore. C: Underneath should be something sexy enough to incite Snape's, not that she seemed to have much problem doing that. D: If she was brooming it to Hogwarts, it would be chilly up there. And she didn't need passing perves checking out her bits from underneath.

She settled for standard student uniform of jeans and a tshirt, and non-standard red mesh bra and knickers. She tied her hair back into a ponytail. No sense arriving at Hogwarts looking like her broom.

The Three Broomsticks was full when she Apparated there. Locals, and a few of the Hogwarts teachers were having quiet pints. Hermione spotted Hagrid slurping back two pints. And a draught of firewhisky. And was that a glass of Gillywater as well? Good old Hagrid. He could keep the pub in business by himself.

Hagrid waved to her with one huge paw. "Hermione! Hello again. Care to join me for a drink?"

"Hello again?"

He smiled, broad and half-pissed. "Saw you up at the castle, not an hour ago."

Okay, then, more than half-pissed. Hermione shook her head with affection. Hagrid never changed. She declined the drink and said she'd catch up with him later. Possibly around the time every man, woman and ghost would be summoned out of Hogwarts to wrestle the sober-challenged half-giant back to his hut. She remembered Harry's last visit to Hogwarts. Harry had come home, and then straight to Carmel's arms, to be massaged for strained arm muscles, all from carrying Hagrid's right leg.

Hermione took one of the spare brooms and flew up out of Hogsmeade. The small village was pretty by moonlight, yellow light shining out of windows, and hundreds of fireflies spinning in the dark air.

Hogwarts by comparison loomed, most windows dark. It was school holidays now, and much of the castle would be deserted. Some of the teachers would have gone home. Hermione bit her lip as she steered her broom down towards the castle's entrance. She cursed herself for not having thought this through. There was no guarantee Snape was at Hogwarts. He might have gone home. For all she knew, he might have gone home to a wife and six children. Or be ensconced at St Mungo's, being treated for incurable Potions addiction and Arithmantic thrombosis. For all she knew, he might have gone home to a husband.

The broom wobbled as she dismounted. Being a rental, it wasn't serviced as often. It stalled on turns, and all but tipped her off on the doorstep. Hermione tied it firmly to a hitching post, and gave it a small kick. The handle said 'Big Wind 100: Made in Gondar'. Bloody fairy-made crap. Why couldn't the wizarding population of Britain buy British?

No bright lights met her entry beyond the large doors, but a few torches burned in sconces. She knew the way to Dumbledore's office. Seven years of being around Harry Potter meant that she'd spent considerable time being sent to the Headmaster.

Hermione suggested eight different lollies to the staircase before it admitted her on 'Smarties'. She heard Dumbledore's voice calling her in even before she'd finished climbing the stairs.

He was by the door, and ushered her inside. Perched on the edge of his desk was Fawkes who was looking shabby, but nowhere near a burning day. The phoenix scratched himself with one gnarly talon, and several small mites fell to the ground. Two instantly incinerated, and the third made a determined scrabble towards Hermione. She surreptitiously squashed it with her foot. Magical as they might be, she didn't want to be infested with phoenix mites. Her hair was very dry. One absent-minded scratch and 'Fwoom!' Up in smoke.

Dumbledore made sweet-smelling tea and they settled back to talk over Hermione's studies, her constant struggle to fund both her post-graduate degree, and her new-found expensive hobby, and her chagrin at discovering most of her belly dance profits had to be ploughed back into costumes, classes, and new music. Not to mention veils, zills, canes, a sword, and a tanker of body glitter.

Dumbledore countered by telling her about the trials and tribulations of getting a bowling ball that wouldn't warp under constant handling by magical hands. His last ball had closed over completely, just after he had been working some healing magic.

"Poppy has terrible troubles. She refuses to bowl any more. Her bowling balls simply heal over before the game is through. And Madam Hooch keeps dissolving hers whenever she loses a game. I can't get anyone to come with me nowadays."

They sat in companionable silence until Dumbledore spoke again.

"I suppose I should come to the point, Miss Granger. I have no doubt you have other matters to attend to this evening."

Hermione tried not to blush, but when she lowered her gaze, she saw that her red bra faintly showed through the white tshirt. Bugger!

"After your magnificent display of…er…fitness the other evening, I thought it would be advantageous to have a physical education department at the school. Flying lessons are all very well, but they don't keep up the standards of fitness. I have engaged a karate instructor to teach the boys when term begins, and I was wondering if you would have time to run some classes for the girls. You'd need to speak to Professor Macgonagall about scheduling of course. I wouldn't want you to neglect your studies, but I rather thought you could make it part of your teaching placement. Professor Vector is taking some leave to recover from his dissertation on the number 22, so I will also need a replacement. And as your major is Arithmancy…."

Hermione beamed. A teaching placement. Wages that wouldn't have to be used to buy sequins. 

"Yes!"

"Excellent. I thought this would be a solution to several of your problems." He leaned back in his chair. Now, young lady, I have work to do." He shuffled parchment unconvincingly. "I do believe my Potions Master is in his rooms right now if you would like to pop in and say hello." He gave her a sudden hard stare from over the top of his spectacles. "But then, you already know that." He cleared his throat. "You might have done me the courtesy of coming here first, Miss Granger."

"What? I mean, pardon? I mean, I did come here first. I haven't seen Severus since….earlier in the week."

Dumbledore looked her up and down the same way the owl had. Hermione knew she had clothes on, so what was he checking for? Gravy stains? Potions stains? Stains of any other sort?

"Miss Granger, I believe I passed you in the hallway some time this evening. If it was not you, then I suggest you make haste to the dungeons."

Hermione didn't need to be told twice. She nodded her goodbye and was out of the door. Someone who looked like her….. In sixth year, a succubus bearing her resemblance had invaded Hogwarts, sent by Voldemort to lure Harry. She was sure they'd sent the demon back to its own realm, but one could never be sure. So many of Voldemort's little booby traps were still going off, even after the Dark Lord's final defeat. If the succubus was back…..

Hermione ran all the way to the dungeons.

Severus Snape was sitting at his desk in the Potions laboratory. He didn't like to take work into his private rooms, so he graded papers in the lab. The light was good, and it was much easier to incinerate badly-written essays in a handy cauldron.

However, he wasn't working. He was sat back in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests until the blood left his knuckles. His eyes were sweeping Hermione's form, perched in front of him on the desk, legs open, and it would have taken only a wriggle to slide into his lap. She was wearing naught but a short bathrobe, and that was being loosened, inch by tempting inch.

"See something you like?" she asked, smiling at Snape.

Snape gave her a wolfish grin. "Are you sure I can't touch?" he said.

She shook her head. "Not yet. Not until you think of twenty ways to use potions in love making."

"What number am I up to?"

"Thirteen."

Hermione also stood in the doorway to the laboratory. _She_ was wearing jeans and a tshirt, and a very big frown. Whatever it was on Snape's desk had on her bathrobe. Hermione started forward as the 'thing' opened the robe a little more. Snape licked his lips.

"Ahh, fourteen. A warming potion could be used on cold nights to keep the flesh from chilling."

"What the hell is going on here?" Hermione-in-jeans burst out.

Hermione-in-bathrobe started. 

Snape looked from one to the other, and suddenly was out of his chair, wand at the ready. Many years as a Death-Eater made him paranoid(Aurors out to get him). Years as a spy turned him paranoid(Voldemort out to get him). Years as a bastard Potions Master made him paranoid(students out to get him). Every ten years, the wizarding world held an Olympics. Snape was in the running for Gold in the Suspicion 48 hour Marathon.

"Which of you, if either, is the real Hermione?" As he said it, he realised it was a stupid question. As if one of them were about to own up.

"She is," sighed Hermione-in-robe. "Honestly, it was just a bit of fun."

Hermione recognised Carmel's voice. "What are you doing? How did you…? Where… what…why?"

Carmel-in-Hermione's-body stretched and the robe fell open. "Polyjuice."

"You haven't had time to brew that," Hermione said. "You couldn't. You're crap at Potions. You said so."

"Dean Thomas isn't. He's majoring in Potions at uni. There's jars of the stuff in the labs there."

"Merlin, Carmel, not Dean, too!" Hermione said. "But why? I mean…"

"He's young, and cute, and…. Oh, you mean this." Carmel's hair was starting to return to its smooth cap of black. "You really seemed to like him." She pointed to Snape, who as yet hadn't lowered his wand. "And I had this dream about him. I thought I'd see if it was true." She shrugged. Carmel's features were starting to reassert themselves and in place of Hermione's lush curves, Carmel's slim figure was emerging.

Snape lowered his wand. "I sent the dream. It was a spell."

Hermione wasn't sure who to belt first.

"You couldn't seem to understand, Miss Chong," he said, the voice of reason. "I thought perhaps if you could see from Hermione's point of view…" He trailed off. It was rather distracting, her sitting on his desk like that, robe half off.

"Oh, I see all right," Carmel said, now fully returned to her own form. "Which is why I'm here."

Now Hermione knew why the flat had been quiet. Carmel was here, attempting to seduce her lover. Yep, she would belt Carmel first. Pity the girl was taller than she was, could run faster, and had a longer reach.

Carmel shrugged the robe off completely and turned her hot gaze on Snape. "So, Professor, what's it to be? I don't mind sharing, you know."

Snape had a hard time taking his eyes of Carmel. She was attractive in a slim way. He thought Hermione had mentioned she also belly danced.

Hermione believed in evening the odds. She pulled her tshirt and bra off and hurried forward to feature herself in the light around the desk.

"Who's it to be, Severus?" It was the only way she could think to take his attention away from the Brit-Asian girl.

If he chose Carmel, she'd kill herself. No, first she'd kill Carmel, then Snape, then herself.

Again, Snape looked from one girl to the other. How often did he get this sort of offer in his lab? Well, there had been that one time back in the 80's…..

"Do I have to choose?" he asked.

Hermione smacked him up alongside his head. Carmel smiled, and wriggled on the desk. The robe fell to the floor. Carmel ran her hands over herself. Snape swallowed, hard.

This meant war. Hermione stripped out of her jeans and knickers, kicking her shoes off along the way. She thought it best to get rid of the socks too. Not a good look to stand naked in socks.

The Potions lab door opened.

"Severus? Did Miss Granger find her way down here? I just wanted-" Dumbledore stopped short. Whatever he wanted was forgotten. Two naked women were apparently offering themselves to his Potions Master. Snape's wand hung limp in his hand, and sweat stood out on the man's brow.

Dumbledore backed out of the room. There was no way he was going to give the Defence Against the Dark Arts job to Snape now. If this sort of thing happened when he was just Potions Master, what the hell would be going on in the Dark Arts room? Dumbledore shuddered at the thought of having to install corridor condom vending statues.

The door shut, breaking the tension. Carmel roared with laughter. Hermione blushed all over. Snape covered his eyes with one hand and massaged his temples.

"All right, I give up," Carmel said. "It was worth a try. No hard feelings, eh, Hermione?" She shrugged. "I'll put up with the pair of you, as long as you're quiet."

Hermione's mouth hung open. How could she say that? They'd been sharing now for over a year, and not a week had gone by without some rumpus issuing from Carmel's room. Why didn't Carmel just put a sign on her door saying 'Men At Work'?

Carmel gathered up Hermione's robe, and made for the door. She turned, and whispered something to Hermione, who quirked an eyebrow but said nothing. Carmel shut the door behind her.

Snape was still rubbing his head. Hermione sauntered forward, red lingerie in hand.

"Do you want me to put this back on?" she asked.

Snape didn't open his eyes. "First prove to me you're the real Hermione. I remember the succubus incident all too well." A saucy, infinitely seduceable Hermione Granger sitting in 6th year Potions, making eyes at him, and only a sense of something very wrong stopped him giving her the detention of her life.

She reached forward, twined one hand in his hair and pulled his face to hers. Their kiss was prolonged. When they broke, she smiled.

"Convinced?"

He licked his lips. "Nearly."

She whispered in his ear. "Your middle name is Stephen, and you have a thing for cleaning my room."

He smiled back at her. "Convinced."

"Now, do I put these back on?" She swung her bra round her fingers.

Snape lifted her easily and sat her on his desk amongst scrolls of parchment. He started to loosen his own clothing.

When he kissed along her collarbone, heading lower, Hermione sighed. "So, what's this I hear about Potions, Professor? What was suggestion number eight? A sense-heightening draught?"

She lifted herself on her elbows, and made a slow, slow hip circle against Snape's body.

He went and got the potion.

***** *****


	5. Party Animals

**__**

NIGHT OF THE AWALIM:

Chapter 5: Party Animals

Thankyou to everyone who has praised this saga, and made helpful comments. And especially to Severely Snaped, who speculated Susan Bones might be 'that sort of girl'. Apologies for the grim moments in this chapter, but even this has to have some sort of plot.

Severus Snape considered himself a man of the world, and a wiz of the wizarding world. If he did say so himself. Which he did, to his mirror every morning. He did quizzes in Witch Weekly so that showed he understood women. He could poison a student in ten seconds flat, so that showed his consideration(no sense letting them suffer). He had his previous familiar stuffed when it passed away. Surely that showed he was capable of love.

He was sure he was ready for this. He sat on Hermione Granger's bed and watched her get ready for work. She smoothed gold glitter up both legs. Snape wished he could help, but when he put one long, smooth hand on her, she smacked him away, half amused, half irritated.

"Not now," she said.

"Let me help."

"Believe me, you would not be helping."

She slipped on a flesh-coloured g-string. Snape swallowed. He'd never seen that item of her lingerie before. Sometimes showing not quite everything was more enticing than…. He tried to get his mind out of her knickers. Failed. Tried harder. Moved his attention to her breasts, as she squashed them into an orange a white sequined bra top. She pushed her breasts around until they settled well inside the cups. Long strings of beads hung down from a curving line across the centre of her breasts nearly to her waist. Whenever she moved, the fringing swayed. Hypnotic really.

Hermione pulled a long, orange split skirt up to her hips, and then began the ordeal of attaching a fringed and sequined belt over it. Snape watched in fascination as she applied safety pin after safety pin.

"Why don't you use magic?" he asked.

"I did once. I tried one that permanently fused the belt to the skirt. I had to be cut out of it." She was red in the face, half bent over, struggling to fasten a pin. "Come on, you son-of-a-witch!"

Snape produced his wand and muttered several words. The belt settled snugly around her, and all the safety pins dropped to the floor. Hermione grabbed his hair with one hand and leaned close to him.

"Tell me which spell you used!"

"Secret wizard's business." 

"I'll kill you if you don't tell."

"Only graduates can use that spell."

"I'll hand you over to Carmel. No, wait, you'd like that. I'll hand you over to Colin Creevey."

Snape whispered the spell in her ear, and took the opportunity to kiss her neck. She smelled of a heavy, exotic perfume. His hands crept up to touch her breasts. Bloody hell, there was no getting through that bra. Twenty five pounds of sequins and beads rendered the bra immobile and armoured like dragonskin.

Hermione moved out of his grasp and brushed out her hair. She did a few stretches, then checked her dance bag. Veil, yes. Zills, yes. Music, yes. She was all set. Quickly, she applied some make up, the kohl around her eyes taking away the remnants of her English features and turning her foreign.

Snape enjoyed this. Underneath his bastard exterior he was a reasonable man. Under Hermione's Brit was Isis. He stood and reached for her just before she slicked on lipstick.

"Just a moment," he said, and kissed her thoroughly.

She struggled only a little. "I have to go to work," she said against his mouth, and slipped out of his arms. "Are you ready?"

He was ready. He'd seen her dance. He'd seen her practice many a time over the past three weeks. He knew every inch of her pliable body.

"Let's go," he said.

They Apparated to the student union building of Elvenbows University. The cafeteria had been taken over by Seamus Finnigan's birthday party. The room was full of rowdy students, many of whom Hermione knew. Snape knew some of them also, and wished he didn't. Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, the Creevey brothers(he'd steer well clear of Colin, who was as camp as a row of pink frilly tents), and many other students he'd taught over the years. There was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Made A Racket In the Next Room Every Night.

Hermione and Snape slipped quietly into the room, unnoticed. Hermione nodded to the women's toilets.

"I'll go in there and take off my kaftan. You take my music over to the dee-jay. Give me five minutes."

Snape nodded. How wonderful to be a lackey. His life's ambition fulfilled. He was glad he had studied six years at university, done a post-graduate degree, and taught at Hogwarts these many years. All so he could ferry Hermione Granger's music to…. Good gods, was that really Neville Longbottom dee-jaying? Had he not melted, dissolved or blown up the speakers yet?

Snape made his way through the crowd. A drunken woman pressed herself up against him, then shrank back.

"Hi there, big boy…..Oh, er….Professor Snape. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean…."

"If you'll excuse me, Miss Bones." Snape waited patiently. Then waited some more. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to remove your hand from my arse?"

Susan Bones grinned sloppily. "Sorry, is that still there?" She slid her hand off him and wandered away to grope…. That high-pitched scream could only come from Weasley. It was followed by some harsh language from Carmel Chong, and Susan went staggering through the crowd, winding up in another undergraduate's lap. Snape didn't recognise him.

He was accosted twice more on his way to Longbottom, and each time the person expressed astonishment, and/or horror at his presence. Finally, he arrived in front of Longbottom. The younger man took his eyes off the stack of cd's in front of him,and the rows of music crystals, and blanched. Snape didn't give him time to stammer.

"The…er…entertainment is here. Play this in a few minutes, tracks three through five."

"Yes, Professor." Longbottom took the cd, his hand shaking. He glanced from it to Snape, twice each. "You're not…."

"No, I am not!"

Relief swept Neville's face. Snape stomped back through the crowd to sit, back against one wall on a hard wooden chair. Always sensible to sit against a wall. One never knew when a Dementor, vampire or Susan Bones would come at him. He was also in line for at least Bronze in the Paranoia 100 metre Scream and Dash.

Snape saw Seamus Finnigan in the centre of the room, downing a quart of Firewhisky at a great rate. He had one arm draped around Carmel Chong, who had an arm around Harry Potter. Susan Bones was lying at Seamus' feet, shouting something about 'Take me now, before the white rabbits come again'.

Familiar wailing music made Snape prick up his ears. He'd heard the music many times now as Hermione practiced a new routine. People looked around, and then Carmel spotted Hermione in the doorway.

Hermione posed for a second, a vision in white and orange, and skipped into the room, arms above her head, brilliant orange veil streaming behind her. She circled the room in long strides, fringes on her bra and belt swinging, chocolatey hair rippling to her waist. A bimbo-esque voice on the cd said: "Boss Amany, tek, tek, tek", and the music changed to an up-beat beledi rhythm. Hermione stopped in front of Ron Weasley and did a series of hip lifts, showing off the nice crease of flesh above her hip. She turned rapidly and hip lifted on the other side, all the while smiling into Ron's face.

Ron grinned, reached out a hand. Hermione was not quick enough and Ron grabbed her, wrapping both arms around her hips. Snape was out of his chair, never mind that something could sneak up behind him.

Hermione wriggled out of Ron's arms and said something to him. The smile never left her face but she was clearly telling him "Look but don't touch". Then she Egyptian walked her way towards Clarissa Tarkington to lead her into some stomach pops.

Snape didn't think Ron had fully understood Hermione's instructions. He had turned to watch Hermione's backside jerking beneath the tight orange skirt. Snape's wand was ever-ready, just like the batteries.

Ron stiffened and fell to the floor. No one noticed or cared. It was that kind of party. Susan Bones let out a cry of delight and fell on Ron, struggling to manouvre herself on top of the enspelled redhead.

Hermione moved on to dance in front of Harry Potter. Harry folded his arms. No way was he going to risk Carmel's wrath. But he grinned and watched Hermione's considerable bust as she shoulder shimmied.

Hermione turned away to go do pelvic drops at Sandar Shiva. Harry collapsed. Carmel toed him with her high-heeled boot. No movement. The Boy Who Could Not Hold His Liquor was obviously passed out again.

Snape crept through the crowd. Sandar Shiva joined two of the Dream Team on the floor. He had dared whistle at Hermione. Snape caught Colin Creevey looking at him. 

"Alohamora!"

A closet door opened and Colin was sent hurling backwards. The door shut after him. Best place for him, really. No one could see those batting eyelashes in there.

Hermione turned her attention to Seamus, who was waving his bottle of Firewhisky and singing "Spice Up Your Life" to her Turkish pop. The music changed to a slower, twining song, and Hermione slowed her movements, bringing into play figure eight's, corkscrews, and sliding hip drops. She lifted her arms and brought her veil sailing over her head to land around Seamus' shoulders. Drawing him close, closer, she did her best earthquake shimmy. Seamus tried to keep his eyes on her face, but failed. He looked down. The view was magnificent from up there. He could see miles of creamy expanse of bosom. As Hermione breathed, her breasts strained against the bra.

Seamus swallowed. Then he stiffened and fell to the floor, taking Hermione's veil with him. Everyone gasped.

The music played on, but Hermione ceased dancing. She looked up. Snape stood fifteen feet away, in the process of sliding his wand back into his jacket pocket, as casual as James Bond putting away his gun, as casual as someone popping a cigarette in their pocket for later. Then Hermione noticed Ron, Harry and Sandar on the floor. A whine came from the closet.

"I want to come out!" Colin shouted.

"Again," someone in the crowd muttered.

Hermione glared at Snape. "Did you do this?"

No answer.

"Did you? Unspell them now!"

Snape withdrew his wand again and sent violet bolts of energy to each man, except Colin. No one was too worried about him anyway. Harry and Sandar were helped to their feet. Susan Bones was pulled off Ron. Ron sat up, tucked his shirt in, zipped his trousers, and stood up, wincing. Either he'd hurt something when he fell, or Susan was a vigourous young woman.

Hermione tried to recapture the mood. She resumed dancing, but found everyone reluctant to watch her now. She finished eight minutes early to thunderous applause. Everyone was afraid not to to be loudly appreciative.

As Hermione left the room, someone let Colin out of the closet.

"Ooohh, it was horrible in there. All dark, and smelly. I thought I'd faint. Can someone get me a drink? Oh, I must sit down." He sat in a handsome man's lap. "Thankyou, my, you are pretty, aren't you? Quick, someone take a picture of us. I don't want to lose the moment."

Hermione stormed out of the room. Snape followed her.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" she screamed. "I was working."

"They were giving you the eye."

"Of course they were. Everyone flirts with the belly dancer. How did you feel when I danced in front of you? Everyone feels like that."

"We are a couple now."

"That doesn't change anything." She hoped to hell it didn't. "I still do this. They are my friends. You zapped them."

"They wanted to sleep with you."

"Well, der. Every man thinks sleeping with a belly dancer would be good. Like we're extra good lovers or something."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying you're not?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. She pushed open the door to the women's toilets and stomped inside. Snape paid no heed to the sign on the door and followed her.

"I'm not saying anything. Just never do that again. This is my work. I like it."

"I'm not sure I do."

"Read my lips, and weep. I like doing this. I'm good at it. I'm going to keep doing it. In front of women and men. And the men will inevitably look at my tits and arse. Some of them will try to touch, and if I'm quick enough, they won't. If you don't like it, piss off." She shrugged out of the bra, and worked the spell to undo the belt. Within minutes she was plain Hermione again

Snape took a deep breath. "Do you have to dance so….close to them?"

Hermione considered him. Poor bugger really was trying his best. She thought back to her fifth year at Hogwarts, when Dumbledore had instigated job sharing. Snape had had to share his Potions job with Sybil Trelawney. One day they found themselves sharing a laboratory. She wanted to use some of his mashed slugs. He'd thrown a complete hissy fit, turned the slugs into paste, turned Trelawney into a wallaby, and all the students into ice sculptures. Only temporary, except for the slugs, but still, it was clear he didn't share well.

"I'll make a deal with you. I won't do the veil around the neck thing any more, and you won't go berko when I dance out."

He sighed. "Agreed."

The door to the women's toilets slammed open. Susan Bones fell through the door.

"Gods, what's wrong with me? All I want is a man." She looked at Snape's shoes, then up along his legs to his crotch. "Hey, it is a man! Bloody brilliant!" She pulled herself up Snape's body. Snape tried to move backwards, but Hermione had her wand out.

"Immobilio," she said.

Snape was stuck. Susan threw her arms around his neck.

"I'll be back in a few minutes. See, I'm different from you, Severus. I'm a caring, SHARING kind of girl."

She left the room, casual clothes in place and only her eyeliner indicating anything unusual about her.

She wasn't really that good at sharing, but it would teach Snape a lesson. Perhaps she should have sent Colin Creevey in there. No, that was too cruel. Hermione collected her cd from Neville and spent some minutes in conversation. Then came the scream from the women's toilets. Padme Patil reeled out of the bathroom.

"My god, it's just too awful. Susan is…. oh, lord and lady, I need to sit down."

Hermione ran. Why did she have a really bad feeling about this? She threw open the door. Susan Bones had tipped Snape onto his back. His entire body was frozen, nothing moved, so Susan had inched herself until she was sitting over Snape's face and using his nose to……

"Get off there!" Hermione yelled. She suddenly understood Snape's ludicrous jealousy because she was feeling it herself.

She dragged Susan off Snape and tossed her into a toilet cubicle. The girl wrapped her arms around the bowl and wept.

"No one understands me. No one loves me!" The toilet bowl listened but didn't speak. A woman's best friend.

Hermione unspelled Snape. He stood, and washed his face. He didn't say anything. Hermione was sweating. Was this a break-up moment? Had she stuffed up completely? Snape gripped the sides of the wash basin. His knuckles were white.

"Hermione?"  
"Yes?" Hell, she wished her voice didn't come out in that mouse squeak like that.

"Can we perhaps negotiate a truce? If you are coming to work at Hogwarts, I'm not sure I could survive another night like this one."

"I'm sure we can manage something."

"Good." He still didn't smile. "Now, can we leave?"

"It's Seamus' party. They're my friends."

"They're my ex-students," he said flatly. 

Hermione sensed another fight in the offing. Then Carmel Chong burst in.

"'Mione. You've got to come see. Abdul Abeya has gone bananas. He's doing a belly dance up on a table. Come and tell him what he's doing wrong."

Hermione shrugged and made for the door. Snape followed her, dragging one leg behind him. Susan Bones was attached. She was still crying, but not as hard.

Abdul was on a table, waggling his hips and stamping his feet. He'd found a Quidditch baton and was whirling it around his head. Much as Snape was tempted to have something terrible happen to him, he restrained himself. Hermione waded into the thick of the crowd and joined in the shouting of "You're rubbish", "Take it off", and "Do the macarena".

Snape found his quiet corner. Susan was sozzled enough now to merely stroke his leg and snuffle into his kneecap. He let her.

He was a man of the world. In one evening he'd made lewd moves on a belly dancer, nearly had unwilling nasal sex with an ex-student, and put Colin Creevey back in the closet. All things considered, it wasn't a bad evening. He sent just a small zap of energy towards Abdul. The boy hit himself on the head with the baton. It was a better evening now.

***** *****

__

If anyone has any suggestions as to where this story should go from here, I'd be happy to listen. Should I inflict lab sharing at Hogwarts? Will their tempers get the better of them? Should Carmel make another play for Snape? And what of Susan Bones? 


	6. Living Quarters

**__**

LIVING QUARTERS

It was with relief and chagrin when Hermione Apparated back to her own bedroom, in her own flat. A hectic day at Hogwarts, establishing an office of her own, making sure her teaching time table didn't clash with her studies or work, and seeing if maybe, just maybe there was a secret entrance that led straight to Snape's bedroom. No. The secret entrance led straight to Macgonagall's bathroom. Hermione reflected that her office had once belonged to Professor Vector. Nope, Hermione didn't need to think about that at all. Even not thinking about it made her shudder. Macgonagall had been most displeased when Hermione had appeared from behind a wall tapestry and caught her in mid-bubble bath.

"You might try the secret passageway from the Divination Tower," Minerva said shortly, trying to drape herself with flannels and rubber ducks.

"Sorry. Divination Tower, you say?"  
"Behind the portrait of the Ugly Woman with the Gourd. Ask Madam Trelawney if you're not sure. I believe she knows the password."

The secret stairway wouldn't open. Hermione had to ask Sybil Trelawney. The older woman smirked, but Hermione wasn't sure if it was from amusement, or a giggle-fit from the suspiciously sweet smoke issuing from the fireplace.

"Of course, my dear. All you have to do is confide in the Ugly Woman. Tell her your deepest wishes, and the way shall be opened for you."

Hermione did so. She told the Ugly Woman about her desire to do well as a teacher, her need to top the Arithmancy classes at Elvenbows, her love of belly dancing and her wish to become Britain's top dancer. She spoke about wanting her parents to be more proud of her than they now were, how much she liked her new strong body, how she would like to one day master Elvish, and her lust for Severus Snape. The Ugly Woman was asleep by the time she got to "I know my parents love me, but they both did so well at university that I'll really have to go some to get them to take notice".

Hermione sighed. Yet another person she'd bored comatose. "I wish I could just go home."

The portrait swung forward, and the staircase led her to Hogsmeade. Hermione shrugged and Apparated home. No Snape bonkies tonight. Besides, she should speak to him first about Trelawney. _Witches Who Love Wizards Who Eat Tofu_ said that opposites attract, but could Trelawney really appeal to Snape? 

Hermione had Apparated with her back to her bed. A small noise made her turn around. Susan Bones lay in the bed, half-asleep. 

"What the hell-?" Hermione said.

Susan sat up. "Carmel said it was okay if I moved in right away."

A lump stirred beside her in the bed, and Justin Fitch-Fletchley's head appeared.

"Hi, Hermione," he mumbled, before flopping down under the blankets again. 

Hermione ground her teeth. She'd only been gone the weekend. She'd tried to impress upon Carmel that she would be only part-time at Hogwarts. Susan Bones and Justin F-F were in her bed. On her sheets. Justin was drooling on her pillow. At least Susan wasn't wearing her nightie. Damn. Justin was.

"Excuse me," she said, and stormed out of the room.

The usual acrobatics and competition diving were happening in Carmel's bedroom. Hermione pounded the door. 

"Piss off, Susan, I've given you one bloke. You can't possibly know what to do with two!" Carmel bellowed.

"It's me, Hermione. Open up, or I'll blast this door down."  
"Can't. It's spell-protected."

Hermione hefted her wand. The door was indeed spell-protected. That was why she caused the walls to crumble. The door stood steadfast, alone, supported by nothing. Hermione stomped over the rubble, got a leg up on the bed and trod on a bevy of boys. She stood, one leg either side of Carmel's lithe body.

"What the hell do you mean by giving my room to Susan Bones? I still live here. I told you that. I - oh, sorry Harry, but do stop moving. I want them out of my bed, and out of my room, now."

Carmel sighed, and shifted Blaise Zabini's right foot from behind her ear. "I just figured once you got to Hogwarts, you'd kinda stay there. You know, with Lover Boy."

"I have my own rooms. Lover Boy, I mean, Severus, has his rooms. He works there full-time. I am only part-time, for maybe only one semester, until Professor Vector comes back. Do I have to spell it out for you, Carmel? Ron, stop wriggling. I'll get off you when I'm good and ready."

"See," Carmel said to Ron. "I'm not the only one who says that. You owe me ten galleons." She stretched herself into a sitting position. Her face was close to Hermione's crotch. "You know, this isn't you at your most attractive, 'Mione. How about you Apparate out for a nice cup of tea, and I'll see what I can do?"

"Half an hour, Carmel, or I swear I'll use the Flaccidio hex on all of them." She pointed to Harry, Ron, Blaise, and an anonymous skinhead curled up and chained to the end of the bed.

"Okay, okay." Carmel shifted again. "Everybody up. Hermione's shitty."

The boys moaned, but once Hermione had hopped off the bed, they rolled to their feet. Suddenly, the room was full of naked young men. This was more of her friends than she'd ever wished to see. And since when did Ron sport a tattoo on his bum? And why on earth was it a Hufflepuff badger? Okay, definitely another thing not to contemplate late at night.

Hermione Apparated to Hogsmeade, where she knew the pub would be open till late, and wouldn't raise eyebrows at the occasional bad tempered wand-wave. She was into the second half of her shandy, and had turned an abandoned wine glass into a toucan and back again, when Snape joined her.

"Hello," he said, nuzzling into the back of her neck.

"Get off, I'm having a bad day."

"Mmm." He took a seat opposite her and started on his whisky. "The Ugly Woman with the Gourd mentioned you'd been by." He sighed. "I suppose you've been talking to Sybil. Look, it was a long time ago, and she'd foretold I was to die that year. How was I to know she does that to everyone? So I thought, one last shag before dying. I-"

"You believed something Sybil Trelawney predicted?"

"I didn't know her very well back then. Aren't you cross that Sybil and I-?"  
"What you did on your own time is your affair, literally. Don't ask me about my past, and I won't ask about yours." Hermione did not want to have this conversation.

"What about your past? Why? What happened? Who?"

"Shut up, Severus." She kissed him to make sure he shut up.

He tried to talk against her mouth. He was not good at shutting up. She guessed that when he was a boy, and his father told him to shut up, he kept talking for three days, thus using up his quota of words for the next seventy years. She kissed him harder.

"Well, if that's what you're after, my rooms are a short distance away by secret tunnel…"

"Shut up. Just shut up. It's not what I'm after. Well, it is, but not right now. I went home and found Susan Bones and Justin Fitch-Fletchley in my bed."

"And this is….bad? Right?"

"Of course it's bad. Carmel moved them in as soon as she thought I'd left."

"And have you left?"

"No. I'm only part-time at Hogwarts. You know that. I still have my studies."  
"There is one way to become a full-time resident of Hogwarts."  
"What? Repeat my NEWTS? How can I improve on 700%"

"You could come live with me."

There, it was out in the open, hanging there like a dust mote on the eye. Hermione blinked.

"Pardon?"  
Snape took a long swig of whisky. "I'm not saying it again."

The silence was heavy between them. Snape looked at the tabletop, thankful that it couldn't speak. Was it this particular tabletop that had provided a handy surface the night he and Rosmerta….? Probably best not to mention that.

Hermione slurped down her shandy. The tabletop looked well-worn, old. There were finger marks along one edge. Obviously a drinker trying to hold on to reality. It didn't explain the imprinted footprints though. One more thing to add to her 'don't think about it too much or you'll lay awake, and then the madness starts' list.

"I'm not sure I'm ready for that," she finally managed.

"I see." His voice was low as he reined in his disappointment.

"But we could try it for a weekend, see how we go. Maybe build up to the real deal."

"That would be nice."

They sealed the agreement with a kiss. In a corner, someone made gagging noises.

Hermione's room was blessedly clear when she returned. Clean sheets, bed nicely turned down. Snape cocked his head.

"I don't see anyone," he said. "Are you sure you're not hallucinating?"

"I'll leave that to Trelawney. No, Carmel must've finally done as she was told." A look of profound relief swept Hermione's face. "Now maybe she'll listen to reason about all those men."

The noises started in the next room. It sounded like a street parade. There was cheering, and the mixed voices of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Carmel Chong, a skinhead with a deep baritone who was apparently called Rastus Watermelon, Blaise Zabini, Susan Bones, and Justin F-F. Someone was playing the ukelele. Susan Bones was whining about there being no room under the bed. The plinky-plinky tones of Ottmer Leibert started from the stereo.

"I knew it wouldn't be so simple," Hermione said, shaking her head. She glanced at Snape. "You once said you can be noisy in bed."

"Yes."

"Do it."

"I have a better idea." Snape spelled a protective spell around Hermione's belongings, and then spelled the entire Hogwarts owlery into the room. He scattered about stimulant-laced mice. The owls swooped, beaks clacking and within minutes, they were hooting, flapping and seeing who could do the most noxious owl-fart. Snape opened the door to the room and some of the owls ventured out into the main living area, and from there past the non-existent walls into Carmel's room.

Snape and Hermione went back to Hogwarts. His rooms were clean, neat, empty of people, and mercifully there were no owl-fart competitions.

Snape proved that he could indeed make noise. So did Hermione. At 5am, someone hammered on their door. Snape rose, shook the violet petals off himself and answered the door.

"Shut up!" screamed Trelawney. She was wearing a black ovesized Weird Sisters tshirt, and fluffy slippers. "The whole Divination Tower is rocking. You know how the Tower conducts any sort of emanations. Just stop it! Shut up! For the love of Merlin, just stop!"

"Sybil-" He was using his 'You Have A Very Dangerous Potion In Your Hand, Longbottom, So I'm Doing My Best Not to Startle You' voice.

"Do you have to shag in that particular rhythm? Does everyone have to know what you're doing? The Divination Tower is doing the lambada. I haven't slept all night. Just go to sleep. Now!" She flounced away down the corridor.

Hermione suggested that some sleep would be good. How embarrassing to be thought of as another Carmel Chong. Then again, Trelawney once bonked Snape. Could it be jealousy? To hell with it. She grabbed Snape by his hair. Sleep could wait. She'd just mastered the saaidi rhythm in her dancing. Time to see if they could make the Divination Tower perform a pelvic tilt.

***** *****


	7. The Right Words

**__**

NIGHT OF THE AWALIM

Chapter 7: The Right Words

Hermione surveyed her seventh year students. 

"For the last time, girls, this isn't a sex education class."

"But, Miss Granger-" Dana Stoli whined. "I was just saying what happened when I did that figure eight thing for my boyfriend."

"Oh, like he'd care, Dana," snapped another girl. "All Frank Mulder cares about is Defence Against the Dark Arts. 'Evil is out there'. We've all heard him."

"Well, he did care. I've just told you. He smiled, and-"

"That's more than enough, Dana. Can we please get back to the class?"

Hermione was endeavouring to explain the difference between gahwazee, the gypsy dancers of the Middle East, and the Awalim, the high class women who were taught singing, dance, and poetry as part of their courtesan training. She was trying to show them Persian arm technique. But these were teenage girls. They wanted to know about Moroccan marriage dances, pelvic thrusts, and the dance of the seven veils. How To Seduce A Boy in Six Easy Hip Drops. Not that it would take six. These were teenage boys, after all.

One karate lesson and they'd been 'Hiiii-yaaaa'-ing all over Hogwarts, showing off their white belts and gi's. One belly dance lesson and the girls had been cutting up their old dress robes for hip scarves, and performing hip circles over dinner. Hermione had consulted with Master Usui. Yes, both of them had cautioned restraint and common sense.

Hermione was glad snake charming wasn't part of the new curriculum. No doubt the school would be full of basilisks by now. Wasn't it bad enough that the old Chamber of Secrets was now the indoor swimming pool? Hermione didn't want to go swimming. No one had guaranteed that the pool didn't house sea snakes.

"Can you show us a dance, Miss Granger?" Dana asked. "How would you dance before a man?"

"I don't dance for a man. Not alone." That was the proper answer. Never mind that Snape watched her rehearse most nights.

The girls exchanged glances. One or two nodded, and prodded each other with their elbows. Hermione put her hands on her hips.

"What?"

The girls looked at their nails, the ceiling, their feet.

"You may as well tell me. I am very good at Potions and Charms, you know. I can get the truth out of you."

Marcia Brody spoke up. "Well….it's just that….I mean…..some of us think…..you've been seen coming down from the Divination Tower most mornings."

Hermione grimaced. She thought she'd been careful. She thought no one had seen. She thought Snape's suggestion she use the secret passageway was a good one, diverting attention from the dungeons. Good one, Severus. Now the students thought she was carrying on with Trelawney. From exotic belly dance teacher having an affair with Slimy Snape to exotic belly dance teacher with lesbian leanings. She would be considered to have bad taste whichever they believed.

Hermione licked her lips. "For the record. I am not having an affair, relationship, or casual fling with Madam Trelawney."

Dana piped up again. "But, DO you know how to dance for a man?"

"Yes." Hermione tried to unclench her teeth.

"So you can show us, right?"

This teaching business was harder than she first thought. She was losing control of the class.

"What about we look at Moroccan marriage dances?" Anything to get their minds off her private life. "When a girl is to be married, the women of the village come to her and impart their knowledge about marriage and what is expected of her. They don't tell her, they dance."

Hermione bounced her pelvis up and down, at the same time moving it in a broad circle. Some of the girls giggled. Dana Stoli guffawed. Tiny Theresa Soeur frowned.

"I don't get it. How does that tell the girl how to run a household, balance a budget, or cook dinner?"

The girls rolled their eyes. Theresa came from a very strict background. She had only been allowed to come to Hogwarts in her 14th year. It was rumoured she wore the world's only remaining enspelled chastity belt under her clothes.

Hermione chose to ignore Theresa's bafflement and motioned the girls to copy her movements. She was very relieved when no more speculations about her sex life were forthcoming. At the end of the class, she warned the girls not to perform this dance for men.

"It's a women-only thing."

But Dana Stoli was all ready speculating on Frank Mulder's reaction.

Too late, Hermione remembered this dance was also a fertility dance. Perhaps she should have all the girls wear chastity belts. She hoped Dumbledore wouldn't be too cross if there was a sudden spate of pregnancies in the school.

The girls surged from the room and Hermione went limp. She wanted a hot bath and a good book, but alas, it was not to be. There was a staff meeting now that classes were finished for the day. Hermione dragged her tired body along the hallways. It would be a relief to go back home tomorrow and spend the next two days being a student again.

She wondered why she was studying at all. Did she really want to major in Arithmancy and go on to teach? Did she want to spend her days with the Dana Stoli's of this world? What had she been thinking?

But did she want to chuck it in and teach belly dance full-time? She imagined year after year of having to run through the basics. "Face the feet forward positioned under the shoulders. Bend the knees a little, keep them loose, tuck the pelvis under just a little. Move your knees back and forth in a small wobble. This is called a slow shimmy." Her own teacher taught and danced full-time. How did she do it without wanting, at the end of every term, to slap each student and say: "For Merlin's sakes, just do it. What is wrong that you can't? Shimmy, dammit!"

Cue Hermione Granger's early life crisis.

The staff common room was nearly full when Hermione arrived. She took a seat next to Snape, who acknowledged her presence with a nod. They were not demonstrative in public. Professor Flitwick patted her hand.

"How are your classes, my dear? Not too strenuous, I hope?"

Hermione eyed him up. "I am the dance teacher, Professor."

His kindly smile froze. "Oh, so you're the one. I thought you were teaching Arithmancy. Some of my young students have given alarming dance demonstrations in class. Two of my text books burst into flames. Perhaps you could caution them not to be so vigourous."

Hermione sighed. "I do try, Professor, but they are simply showing off."

Dumbledore brought the meeting to order. Fawkes was taking the minutes, using one of his own tail feathers as a quill.

"I am very glad you have begun this discussion, Professor Flitwick. It seems there are some teething troubles with these physical education classes."

Master Usui caught Hermione's eye, and grinned. He spoke up.

"To my understanding, both karate and hilal dance, to give it one of its formal names, raise energy levels in the abdomen and pelvis. To the untrained person, this build-up can be surprising, disturbing even. Certainly unexpected. This is not a culture that places great awareness on inner energy flows, particularly those of the lower body."

"Oh, I don't know," Snape muttered, low enough that only Hermione could hear and blush.

Usui continued. "A graduated witch or wizard knows how to control their magic. But an undergraduate doesn't. Add to this energy surges and you have problems."

Teachers spoke over the top of each other. Macgonagall had witnessed a student transfiguring himself into a gnat, simply by performing a karate stance. A gnat could not wave a wand to reverse the spell. Macgonagall had to interfere. Flitwick cited his exploding text books again. Madam Pomfrey said the percentage of students singed, transfigured, spliced, or melted during illicit sexual encounters had increased.

Professor Sinistra glared at Hermione and Usui and muttered about the angle of her telescope being all wonky. Trelawney complained that the Divination Tower had bought a hip scarf and daily practiced shimmies. But she was staring, mean-eyed, at Hermione and Snape.

Dumbledore listened for some time.

"There is only one thing for it," he said.

Several teachers looked relieved. He was going to cancel the P.E. classes. Thank the gods.

"The staff shall learn from Miss Granger and Master Usui, and thus will be able to offer guidance to their students."

Usui looked alarmed, possibly thinking of trying to maintain a choke-hold on Professor Binns. Hermione put her head in her hands. She had vivid memories of Snape trying out some of her moves. Must she see Dumbledore and Flitwick doing the same? Why was adult life so full of crap?

Cue even more of the existential crisis.

Hermione spotted him right away. He was simply too pretty to be a girl. She hauled Damon Creevey out from the back of her class. He had on a girl's school uniform, and a pretty hip scarf. She guessed he was a cousin of Colin Creevey. The big eyes gave it away.

"Damon, this is a class for girls," she explained gently.

"I don't like karate," he whined. "Let me learn to dance. Dana's been teaching me." He did a fantastic hip circle, and an adequate body roll. "Look. I can do it."

"That you can."

Dana called out. "Oh, go on, Miss Granger. They're wiping the floor with him in karate. He loves dancing."

"And flower arranging."

"And Judy Garland."

"Who?"

"Muggle singer."

"Oh."

Hermione gave in. "Won't anyone notice he's missing?"

Dana shook her head. "Nuh. Ingrid Boeuf has taken his place."

Personally, Hermione thought it a good thing. Ingrid always looked ready to beat someone up, and had the muscles to do it.

She sent Damon back to his spot.

"Can men belly dance, Miss Granger?" Dana asked. "Besides Damon. For real, you know, like a performance or something?"

She saw the eager sea of faces before her, and the words came out before she could stop them. "Indeed they can. Many Arabic men dance. The Reda Troupe was led by a man and he is famous for his choreographies. In fact, I have several male students." She rather thought that Flitwick, Binns, Dumbledore, and Snape were going to kill her.

"Can we meet them? See them dance? Oh, please, Miss Granger!" A chorus of voices, Damon's most prominent.

What could Hermione say but yes?

"No. Absolutely not. No. In a phrase, piss off."

"Severus-"

"It's for the end of term party."

"No."

"Professor Dumbledore says he'll do it if the rest of you will."

"That man would dance naked in a gay bar if he thought it would give him a couple of laughs."

"Don't tell Damon Creevey."

"What?"

"Never mind. Please, Severus. Flitwick said he would if you would."

"Binns?"

"Said no."

"Well?"

"Only because he couldn't put on a costume."

"This is ridiculous. I will not do it."

Hermione folded her arms. "Suit yourself. I'll just have to ask Ron and Harry."

Snape glared at her. "What has Potter to do with this?"

"Carmel belly dances as well, you know. I'm sure she's taught her boys plenty."

"Her army, you mean. I hear Brian Cohen is laid up at St Mungo's with a bad back, all due to Miss Chong's version of male fitness." He saw the look in Hermione's eyes. "No. Don't ask again."

She turned her back and grabbed up a handful of Floo powder, ready to go back to her own rooms. "Okay, I won't." She stepped into Snape's fireplace, shouted "Hermione Granger's rooms" and tossed the powder over herself.

Snape shook his head. Belly dance in front of the student body. Like hell!

The students were gathered in the Great Hall. The usual array of seats and tables were gone and a stage had been erected. Macgonagall led off with a speech, and a showing of advanced Transfiguration. Everyone was impressed when demure little Janie Austin was transformed into three bad-tempered girls who called themselves Emily, Charlotte and Anne. The girls ran from the room, shouting that the last one in the Forbidden Forest was a loser. Obviously.

Master Usui and several of his seventh year students gave a rousing karate demonstration. 

A visiting wizard called Luigi gave a sample or two of Antipodean magic, while his assistant, Maria, flitted about the stage, gesturing and smiling and doing nothing useful.

A mixed group of Hogwarts girls performed an American Tribal belly dance, complete with fake tattoos that wriggled across their writhing bellies. Hermione gave a quick solo performance. Snape had never seen her in stage performance with plenty of room to move. Her timing was perfect, her costume sparkling in the torchlight. She dipped and swirled about the stage, interpreting the music, and finishing with a slow dance, a sword balanced on her head. He knew just how hard she had worked to master this, and was among those who applauded hardest.

Then it was time for the final performance of the evening. Dumbledore, Flitwick, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Rastus Watermelon took the stage. All wore long kaftans and plain red cotton belts around their hips. They Transfigured their wands into staffs.

"Bloody hell," Snape muttered. "Grown men with delusions of Gandalf."

The wizards twirled their staffs around their bodies and began a very basic dance. Ron was blushing to the roots of his red hair. Harry was looking anywhere but the audience. Snape wondered what hold Hermione had over these boys to make them do this? Perhaps it was better he didn't know.

Dumbledore was laughing. Flitwick's staff was bigger than himself. He clonked himself on the head and was out cold.

The dancers were terrible. So far beyond terrible they could qualify for the Terror And Faint Relay at the Wizarding Olympics. And Snape thought he had the Silver Medal sewn up.

Dumbledore performed a hip drop that looked like he was trying to sit on an owl that was trying to get away. Snape clambered onto the stage. 

"Not like that!" he snarled. "Like this."

He did a hip drop. Bam! Then one on the other side. Bam! Then a series of broken drops. Bam-bop-a-lu-bop-a-lop-bam-boo! The other dancers stopped. The audience stared. Damon Creevey started to clap. Dana Stoli whistled. Dumbledore grinned.

"I bow before the beledi Master," he said and stepped back.

The audience erupted into catcalls, applause, whistles, and stomping. Snape was transfixed. He didn't move. From off-stage, Hermione took her hands away from her mouth, which had been open enough to catch hippogriffs, and knew this was her chance to play Rescuing Princess.

She bolted on stage and began a camel walk around Snape's rigid form. She trailed her hands past him. He caught one, held it. She spun quickly under his arm and came out into a shoulder shimmy, followed by a dip and reverse undulation.

She danced around him, using him as her anchor. Harry, Ron and Dumbledore retreated off-stage. Hermione turned the attention onto herself. She could do this. How many times had her chosen victim at a party or restaurant frozen? As she danced, she felt Snape relax until his eyes were following her. His jaw was no longer set in rictus.

The music stopped abruptly. She curtsied to the audience. Snape ducked his head, sharp and quick, and she led him off-stage. He turned to her. She couldn't tell if he was going to go ballistic, or laugh. Possibly, he didn't know himself.

"Hey," she said. 

"Hmmph."

"You were good."

"Mmmph."

"You've learned a lot."

"Pmmph."

"Everyone loved you."

"Love and me are not two things that occur in the same breath."

"Well, I love you." Did she really just say that?

"Do you?"

Hermione swallowed. "I'm not repeating it."

"I see."

There was silence. Hermione fidgeted. Okay, she got the picture. She made plans to shift back to the flat. She would see out her Arithmancy degree, but she now knew she no longer wanted to teach. Not Arithmancy, not belly dance. She could be done with Hogwarts. She swallowed.

"Well, I should be going. I've got lots of packing to do."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I mean, Professor Vector is coming back, and Professor Dumbledore has decided that new subjects will be offered next term. Jazz ballet and wood chopping, I believe." She fiddled with her costume beading. "There's really no reason for me to stay."  
"No?"

She wanted to kill him. Slowly. Painfully. With one of his own potions. 

"Well, I just said….and you didn't…and what's the point?….I mean-" Two of his own potions.

"Hermione, we are in public. Do you really expect me to make declarations with Mr Potter standing only two feet away?"

Harry moved with alacrity, attempting to engage Luigi in conversation.

Hermione dragged him to the nearest fireplace, pulled him into it, and shouted "Hermione Granger's bedroom, London."

They shot out from under her bed, dishevelled, dirty, but still hand in hand. Hermione stood up, hands on hips.

"Well?"

Snape stood more slowly. Older, or simply toying with her? She'd never know.

"Hermione, I do indeed think it's time you left Hogwarts."

Her insides bottomed out around her ankles. Oh no.

"You're heart isn't in teaching. I think you're a researcher. I think you should move back here and finish your degree."

Insides past the ankles, pooling around the soles of her feet.

"And I think I should move in with you."

"What?"

He strolled around the room. "I've been thinking of a career change myself. I am never going to get the Dark Arts job. Never. It amuses Dumbledore to hire idiot after idiot, to take the edge off a frightening subject. I've waited long enough. I'm applying to Elvenbows for a position. In Dark Potions research. I think eventually you could bring a useful touch to the department as a junior researcher. And this flat would be handy to the university, don't you think?"

"I-uh-"

"We could live here, and both work at Elvenbows."

"Now just a minute-"

"And there is much more performance work for you in London than stuck out at Hogwarts."

"But-"

He turned to her. "What? I've thought all this through. I've been very thorough."

"But you don't love me."

Silence again. Snape stared at her. Then the bedroom door burst open. Carmel stormed in.

"Of course he bloody loves you. He can see you aren't happy at Hogwarts. I can see it. Shit, even Ron 'Thick As Two Short Planks' Weasley knows it. The man has just offered to follow you. He's giving up a secure job to be with you. What more do you ruddy well want, woman?"

"Words. I want the words."

"She wants words," Carmel said to Snape.

"She always wants words," Snape countered.

"Do you have them? Because if you don't, you'd better bugger off now for messing my girlfriend around."

Snape sighed. "I have the words."

"Good." Carmel stomped out and slammed the door. "Just keep the noise down. People are trying to bonk in the next room."

A minute later war whoops and a Tarzan call issued forth. It seemed Draco Malfoy and Peter Greystoke were in town for a visit.

Hermione watched Snape carefully. Snape came forward.

"I love you. Are those the right words?"

She opened her arms. "Those are the right words. Ya habibi."

"Translation?"

"My darling."

Draco Malfoy lay awake long into the night. What on earth would cause that screeching noise in the next room? It wasn't human. 

***** *****

__

Author's notes: Thankyou to everyone who's stuck with me this far, and especially to those who have given such nice reviews. This is THE END.

To those in the know, I realise Hermione hasn't behaved in a true professional belly dance manner. A dancer shouldn't really get so close to her audience, but I had to get Hermione and Snape together somehow.

Thankyou to Pigwidgeon for encouraging this idea in the first place, Severely Snaped for the "You go, girl" and the Susan Bones stuff, and Warrego for letting me test drive chapters on her.

Belly dance is a wonderful, beautiful thing that extends far beyond sexuality. If I've encouraged one woman to take it up, I'm pleased. Inshallah!


End file.
